1. The Wild Horse of Strife

With his decision made, Dreibrand rushed back into his house. His heavy steps banged through the empty home, and he glanced into the boys’ room as he passed it. Their stripped beds clung to the corners like naked prisoners.

Dreibrand entered his bedchamber and went to the wardrobe. When the cabinet had arrived from Jingten, he had stowed a box on one of its shelves and not touched it since. He retrieved the box and popped the latch. Even in the dusky gloom, the dagger’s edge gleamed. Its ivory handle greeted him without any hard feelings after being shut away for years. Somehow, the splendid sidearm knew that it would always be a prized possession.

Dreibrand picked up the dagger and absently set its open box back on the shelf. The ivory handle was cool and heavy. A slight hint of yellow had developed since he had received the dagger at his graduation from the Darmar’s military academy. Only the top ten graduates were gifted with the daggers.

Dreibrand had never been to war without it, and despite his turmoil over preparing to battle his own people, he could not bring himself to forswear it. He slipped the dagger into its old place on his swordbelt.

When he closed the cabinet, he paused to consider Victoria’s vacant crib. It set there like a skeleton in a forgotten tomb. Marching from the house, he forced the image out of his mind.

"I wanted my dagger," Dreibrand explained to Atarek and Tytido who were waiting outside.

"Oh, right," Atarek mumbled, recognizing the dagger. Dreibrand had been honored to receive it at his graduation, but Atarek had made fun of it, and they had hardly been on speaking terms when Dreibrand had left on his first military assignment.

The brothers exchanged a look as each man remembered hard feelings, but neither of them desired to rehash old criticisms. 

They joined the warriors gathering in the town square. With the women and children evacuated, the defenders roused their blood for battle. Tonight, the humans and the rys would dance the war dance together.

The sun gave up the sky and sank behind the mountains. The orange glow of bonfires and torches highlighted the armored bodies in the town square. The hot scene of activity within the settlement was small upon the darkened landscape where prairie met forest between smooth old mountains.

Shouts, oaths, and battle cries battered the night as warriors drank freely and toasted each other’s bravery. Glutting themselves on camaraderie, the warriors proclaimed the certain defeat of their enemies.

Men cheered when Dreibrand arrived with Atarek and Tytido. Dreibrand acknowledged numerous greetings, shaking hands and slapping shoulders. The admiration and loyalty in their eyes gratified Dreibrand, especially because it came in equal doses from his original followers and the former Kezanada.

Their rowdiness eased his apprehension. He heard their readiness for battle in their loud voices. From this night forward, Nufal could only be purchased with their lives, yet he hoped to bargain a better deal.

The crowd opened up and Quylan and Tulair approached Dreibrand with an entourage of rys soldiers. Before Dreibrand could ask where Shan was, the rys King appeared right in front of him.

"Shan, I did not see you," Dreibrand said.

"Perhaps you were not looking hard enough," Shan teased, and his smile was strange below his blue-burning eyes. "Walk with me," he commanded gently.

Dreibrand gestured for Atarek and Tytido to wait and fell in step next to Shan.

"Dreibrand?" Atarek shouted, and Dreibrand looked back, puzzled by the outburst. Tytido bore the same confused expression as Atarek.

Shan hushed Dreibrand quickly before he could respond.

"They cannot see us," Shan explained with some delight.

Dreibrand wanted to dispute the incredible claim, but then he noticed the magic tingling over his body. Shan had enclosed him in a spell.

"Let me tell my brother," Dreibrand said because he did not want Atarek to worry.

"Quylan will explain," Shan said, and as he said the words, Dreibrand watched her go to Atarek and Tytido and calm them.

"Watch it," Shan said and tugged Dreibrand out of the path of two boisterous men.

As Dreibrand dodged the warriors, he completely believed what Shan had done. Following Shan out of the crowd, he asked how it could be.

Shan sat down on the toppled torso of a broken statue and draped an arm over its elbow stub. "We are not truly invisible," he explained. "Our eyes give us images by interpreting light. I use my power to bend other images around us, blurring our presence. It is basically camouflage, and for obvious reasons, it works best at night. I have been working on this spell for some time."

Dreibrand looked down his arms and asked why he could see himself.

"Because you are inside my spell," Shan replied as if it were all very simple.

"Shan, I am amazed," Dreibrand said.

The rys sat up. "I do not know if I have actually heard you say that before," he commented. "I will take it as a compliment."

"How many people can you conceal?" Dreibrand asked, excited by the possibilities.

"I think a hundred in the night. Perhaps half that in the day," Shan answered.

"Excellent," Dreibrand said. "We can assemble a strike force. Try to hit Tempet and Alloi when they are vulnerable or distracted."

Shan nodded. "Yes. You and I will go together. We will take with us rys and human soldiers."

The advantage of stealth thrilled Dreibrand immensely, and many possible uses bloomed in his mind.

"You hope that you can attack Sandin personally," Shan guessed.

Dreibrand considered his answer carefully. "I would not jeopardize our mission for my personal revenge. I know everything hinges upon our defeat of Tempet and Alloi," he said but still looked very troubled.

"Then what is on your mind?" Shan asked.

It was an endearing question, especially when Dreibrand knew that Shan could simply swat him with a spell and know his private thoughts.

"Shan, before we strike, can I go in alone, or maybe with just a few men and advise some officers not to oppose us? Warn them of your power. I am prepared to placate the military with substantial bribes. Tytido and I have secreted treasure within a day’s ride of our battleground. I can send for it any time," Dreibrand proposed. He had to believe that, if the Atrophane actually understood their jeopardy, then they would gladly accept ransom in place of costly struggle.

Shan admired his willingness to bid for peace. It was very civilized of Dreibrand.

When the rys King did not respond, Dreibrand continued urgently, "I want to spare their lives. Killing them is a bitter thing for me. Some of them must have misgivings about serving Tempet and Alloi. Perhaps it is not too late to negotiate."

"No. It is too risky," Shan decided.

The blunt denial surprised Dreibrand. "If they could understand how dangerous it is to oppose you, they might stand down," he argued.

"Dreibrand, do not condemn yourself for fighting the Atrophane. I have sensed your anger with your people. I know you would never let them take Nufal," Shan said. He let the last statement hang for a moment as Dreibrand pondered his personal truth. "And, my friend, you must understand that words or bribes cannot loosen the grip that Tempet and Alloi have upon their army of men. Their magic has enhanced the natural greed of military men and there will be battle. I cannot waste the element of surprise provided by my invisibility spell on an errand of peace."

Even though Shan’s spell still concealed him, Dreibrand turned away from the firelight. Sorrow momentarily crippled the strong features of his face as if he resigned himself to killing a beloved comrade who begged for swift death.

Collecting himself, Dreibrand said resolutely, "Then I will strike with all my strength so that this madness can end the quicker. But Shan, promise me you will make the Atrophane see the wisdom of surrender."

Some of the fire died from Shan’s eyes and he let his spell dwindle. Standing, he placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder and said, "When Tempet and Alloi are defeated, the Atrophane will see you as the bringer of mercy. I promise."

Dreibrand found refuge from his hideous turmoil in his devotion to Shan. Serving his rys benefactor had always been the best choice. "I will save them from ruin and rise as their leader," Dreibrand envisioned. "As always, you are generous with me, Shan."

Pleased by the sincerity of Dreibrand’s emotions, Shan chuckled. "My friend, when have I not made you earn it?"

"True," Dreibrand conceded, although his bond with Shan had gone beyond merely striving for reward. "I wonder what Tempet and Alloi promised Sandin?"

"Probably the riches of Jingten, which I believe is what originally tempted you to my side," Shan said.

"I suppose that would be enough to make Sandin serve another," Dreibrand admitted. "But sometimes I pity him. I know Sandin very well, which has been no pleasure, but he believes wholeheartedly in Atrophaney supremacy. It would not be in his nature to make an alliance, especially one that made him subservient. Do you think that Tempet and Alloi have swayed him with magic?"

"Yes," Shan said.

Dreibrand was quiet for a moment before making his next statement. "Shan, it has occurred to me that perhaps you rule me with your magic. That my loyalty is really just a thought you put in my mind."

Shan showed no offense and valued the open curiosity. Human friends in the past had voiced such doubts, and Shan could not blame them for wondering.

"I have never done that to you," Shan said very specifically.

"How would I know?" Dreibrand whispered, truly pondering the possibility.

"You would not avoid the truth of your heart forever," Shan said knowingly. "But the real difference is that I would know."

Dreibrand nodded. There was a difference between commanding loyalty and inspiring it.

Because Dreibrand understood his answer, Shan added, "Using my power responsibly is much better than reveling in it just for the pleasure."

"Does that make you stronger?" Dreibrand asked.

"It does," Shan replied, but the small answer did not even begin to indicate the mental discipline necessary to adhere to his belief.

They lapsed into a shared silence, each one thinking about his responsibilities.

"There you are!" Atarek cried and stomped up to his brother. Tytido was right behind him and Quylan trailed them with a smile on her face.

"You have gotten quite good at finding me, Brother," Dreibrand said as his attention returned fully to the noises and bodies around him.

"The Queen says you were made invisible," Atarek said skeptically.

Quylan moved alongside Shan, who put an arm around her. "He does not believe me," she said with amusement.

"The King used his magic to trick you into not seeing me," Dreibrand said. "Shan has mastered a new spell that will conceal a small group of us and allow us to launch a surprise attack."

"Really?" Tytido said with great interest. As a westerner, he had been born in a world ruled by rys magic, and he could accept the news quickly.

"I shall make a bolder demonstration for us all," Shan said. "Dreibrand go speak to our armies. The Queen and I will reveal ourselves when you introduce us. Let us stir our fighters with words and then we will give ourselves over to the primal energies of the war dance. The rys and the humans shall kindle their power under the stars."

"Yes, my King," Dreibrand said.

He went with his brother and Tytido to the stone speaking platform. Bonfires blazed around the platform and cold gusts of wind tore bright cinders into the air. Dreibrand sprang onto the stone slab and warriors soon began to notice him. Their cheers drew the attention of the others.

Dreibrand raised his arms and indicated for the crowd to be quiet. His armored jacket was repaired and glistened with a fresh application of oil. A new helmet had been made for him, and the angles of its metal brims were designed to deflect blows away from his body. Beneath the helmet, a hood of chainmail clung to his skull and hung protectively around his neck. Decked in such harsh apparel, he would meet the intruders of his territory.

Dreibrand took a deep breath, moving his diaphragm in preparation for projecting his voice. He felt the weight of his armor across his shoulders, and he remembered his first time urging soldiers to victory. That day, years ago, Atrophane soldiers had stood before him.

He called to Faychan, Gulang, and Tulair and asked them to join Tytido and Atarek who stood in front of him. Surrounded by the lieutenants of his cause, he began his speech.

"Warriors of Nufal, warriors of Jingten, we stand here united against enemies born of old Nufal. Tempet and Alloi remember only the horror of the Great War, and we cannot allay their thirst for revenge. They have assembled a terrible invasion and long for our destruction without even pausing to see the renewal that we have brought to Nufal, the very place for which they madly murder. Nufal, so long a desolate place of terror and mystery, has been reborn. We are a strong child, a healthy child, sound of body and mind, and we will not let a bitter mother smother our life because she refuses to envision our future. Tempet and Alloi could have joined us in rebuilding their lost kingdom, but they have made their intentions clear, and therefore, THEY WILL DIE!"

Dreibrand believed that he had never called for death with such desire. Shan is right. I will not let anyone take Nufal from me, he thought.

The humans and rys shouted their acceptance for his decree.

Dreibrand continued, "All of you fight for Nufal to protect your homes. The rys fight with us because they know that Jingten is the goal of the invasion. Our new settlers, who lived in the west as Kezanada, fight for their chance at a new and better future. And our comrades from the eastern world fight because they would not have the Atrophane conquer them again. Like you, I fight for my home and my family, but this battle will be more than that to me, and to my brother." He paused and met Atarek’s gaze when his older brother turned to look up at him. Atarek bore no smirk of contempt or hint of ridicule. Atarek supported him, and Dreibrand valued his brother’s presence immensely.

Deciding to address any lurking concerns that some of the fighters might have, Dreibrand said, "For Atarek and me, this is the worst kind of war. We go to fight men from the country of our birth, but have no doubt about which side we stand on. We stand with you against the Atrophane aggressors. Our noble Atrophaney House has a long and proud history that has suffered from a conspiracy of other nobles who wanted our power and wealth. In the coming days, I intend to correct the situation and reclaim my family’s prestige. As I accomplish this, I will also insure the security of Nufal. The people of this land will never labor under the yoke of a conqueror."

Dreibrand’s followers cheered. He was their leader and they wanted no other. Their hearts went out to him and Atarek as well. All battles tested the bravery of men, but no warrior envied the cold task set before the brothers.

The commitment of the warriors was hardening like iron taken from the forge and plunged into water. Their rising courage helped Dreibrand overcome his difficulty with confronting his countrymen. The Atrophane had shunned civil war as a great evil for over three hundred years, but now he saddled the wild horse of strife for the sake of his power.

Dreibrand concluded, "But my problems are nonexistent compared to the threat from Tempet and Alloi. Only the true champions and protectors of our civilization will stop their fury. Tonight we fire our wills to serve the King and Queen of Jingten!"

The warding crystals on the swords worn by Dreibrand, Faychan, and Tytido flashed, and the sudden glare from the warding crystal that Atarek now wore around his neck startled him. Energy rippled through the bodies of the crowd, and Shan and Quylan materialized on the platform on each side of Dreibrand.

A collective gasp of awe greeted the monarchs, who remained composed as if nothing extraordinary had occurred. Even the rys soldiers were surprised. The concept of warding magic that cloaked a physical presence from the mind’s eye was known, but actual invisibility was not expected.

Shan spoke, and as always, his voice reached all listeners. He told them that he could conceal others with his magic as well. This would be their advantage against a foe greater in number.

As the sole feminine presence, Quylan mesmerized her audience as she pledged to never waver in the defense of beloved Jingten, and the rys soldiers immediately repeated her vow in their language.

With the time for words passing, Shan said, "Despite the heart breaking ugliness of this invasion, it is a glorious thing to see rys and humans working together as trusting allies. Let us join in our hearts and celebrate our friendship in these last hours of peace."

The King of Jingten was obeyed. Rys and humans mingled as comrades and gave their minds over to the drums. The war dance commenced. They were a small army, one fifth the size of the force marching on the plains, but as their feet pounded the old paving stones of Nufal, their power became a cohesive force, stronger than each individual, the spell that only they could make. The ecstasy formed easily for the warriors, created by their fear of dying and their determination to win. They could have danced all night until their fervor turned to exhaustion, but the war dance’s purpose was to give them fuel. At the proper moment, Shan stopped the drummers. No orders needed to be given. Everyone knew what to do. It was time to leave Vetanium.

With the stars still in the sky, they rode onto the plains.

No one noticed until morning that the weather had grown colder. The ground was on the verge of freezing and dark clouds scudded over the skies of Nufal.

As the army made camp, Shan remained on his horse and contemplated his home mountains. The gloomy day obscured their beauty, which perhaps suited his mission. He regretted that the rys would again decide the fate of Nufal.

>Why do I fight for this Wilderness? I could go home and seal the pass, 10.0pt; font-weight:normal'>Shan thought. But somehow Nufal was impossible to ignore. Although the land had initially felt foreign and hostile to him, he was growing accustomed to the region. Perhaps Nufal was not so alien. Before the Great War, the rys of Jingten and Nufal must have commingled, been kin. What ended the peace? Shan wondered. He suspected that Onja had been the cause.

Despite his diligent interest in the lost history of the Great War, Shan’s research had yielded few additional details. The scraps of ancient history that he had obtained from the Kezanada through Faychan had not discussed the causes of the conflict. Shan wondered if the ancient human fighters had even known the reason for the war. If they had, then their writing of it had not survived the ages.

With the invaders drawing closer, Shan shifted his mind to the present. He commanded everyone, even Quylan, to take some rest. He would watch over them in case attack spells came. And when they woke, they would hear his final plan for the battle.

******

Dreibrand held his left arm out so Faychan could wrap it with fabric. All around them, other warriors were being prepared in the Kezanada way for their mission into the night. Although Shan’s spell would conceal them, Faychan and the other former Kezanada had insisted that everyone be properly outfitted. Magical support did not translate into neglecting the skills of stealth. All armor or shiny accessories needed to be covered with cloth. The padding would prevent clinking that could give a man away, and the dull cloth would stop firelight from glinting off metallic items.

Faychan suggested binding Dreibrand’s dagger into the wrappings on his left forearm. Dreibrand was accustomed to using a dagger from his belt, but Faychan advised him that the wise commando always carried a hidden weapon. After he covered the ivory handle with cloth and checked to make sure that it would hold in place, Faychan showed Dreibrand where to probe for the weapon and pull it out.

"It is in there tight," Dreibrand commented, wiggling the dagger.

"Well, you do not want it to fall out," Faychan said. "If you need it, I am sure you will not worry about tearing a bit of cloth."

"No, I suppose not," Dreibrand conceded. He appreciated that Faychan shared his techniques for operating behind enemy lines.

Securing the last wrapping with expert fingers, Faychan stepped back and regarded his subject. Dreibrand’s helmet and neck were wound with black cloth as well, and the warding crystal on his sword had been wrapped. Faychan nodded with satisfaction. "Much better," he said.

Dreibrand slapped his arms against his armored torso and approved of the softened sound. "This was your favorite part of being a Kezanada," he guessed.

"I was good at it," Faychan said. "I should go with you, but Shan will not have me."

Trying to divert Faychan from the rejection, Dreibrand said, "It is better to have you here. If I am captured, I will need you to get me out."

"Oh, I see," Faychan laughed.

"How can you joke around?" Tytido criticized. He had watched Faychan prepare Dreibrand for the mission and grown anxious for the assembling strike force.

"You have never had a sense of humor before a battle," Dreibrand said.

Tytido saw no fault in his seriousness. When the battle started, the commandos would be utterly surrounded by enemies. Even aided by Shan, they had to rely on Tytido’s forces to save them. As Shan and his strike force infiltrated the enemy army, Tytido, Faychan, Tulair, and Quylan would be poised to engage. After Shan launched the internal surprise attack, Tytido would attack from the outside and relieve pressure on the commandos.

Ideally, the confusion created by the separate attacks would allow them to eliminate Tempet and Alloi. Then, Shan could compel the Atrophane to surrender because they could not hope to defeat the King of Jingten with mere human power.

Everyone accepted that Shan’s daring raid was necessary. Their army was too small to face the invasion force in a conventional daylight battle. They had to strike from within and without under cover of night and magic so that they could hit key players during the mayhem.

Trying to ease Tytido’s obvious tension, Dreibrand said, "We shall be reunited in victory."

Knowing that his doubts would not serve them now, Tytido said, "Yes. Fight well my friend."

"I will, and good luck," Dreibrand said.

He checked his sho dart pistol again to make sure that a dart was loaded in the chamber although he knew that it was there.

Fires were forbidden tonight, and Dreibrand quickly scanned the area in the deepening dusk. The rys soldiers were starting to team up with their human partners on the strike force. Atarek was taking a few more practice swings with his new sword, and Dreibrand went to speak with him before their parting.

Atarek lowered his weapon and said, "Looks like this war is about to get started." 

"Yeah," Dreibrand agreed soberly. "I have to go soon."

Visibly uncomfortable about Dreibrand’s foray into the enemy camp, Atarek said, "I suppose this is the type of thing you have done many times?"

"Well, not exactly like this, but I have been in plenty of tight spots," Dreibrand replied, trying to be positive about the situation. "Now stop worrying about me because you are not going to have it so easy. Remember, stay close to Faychan while I am on this mission."

Atarek rolled his eyes and nodded. "And you can stop worrying about me. Maybe I don’t have your fancy military training, but I have been rather dangerous myself on a few occasions. I recall bloodying your nose a couple times," he said.

"I know. I just want you to be careful because…" Dreibrand pictured himself fighting in the middle of the Atrophane encampment and continued, "Atarek, if something should happen to me, promise me you will take care of my family."

Such responsibility was a dizzying concept for Atarek. He sheathed his sword and fiddled with the handle of his new dagger while trying to think of what to say. "Are you sure you would not want to ask a more reliable sort?" he said.

"Atarek," Dreibrand growled impatiently. "This is about the future of the House of Veta."

Looking ashamed of his lack of seriousness, Atarek said, "Yes, of course, Dreibrand. I am honored."

"Thank you," Dreibrand said with a humility that Atarek had never seen in him before.

Atarek kept his hand on the sword at his hip. Although still trying to become used to the larger weapon, its presence alongside his body was reassuring, as was the warding crystal hanging around his neck. "Well, Dreiby, if something happens to me, promise me you will pour a few good glasses of wine on my grave every year," he said with a grin.

Dreibrand indulged his brother’s need for humor and asked, "Red or white?"

"Alternate each year. And maybe a couple shots of that nasty liquor too," Atarek said.

"I can do that," Dreibrand promised. "But I insist you live a long life before burdening me with the maintenance of your grave."

"I plan to, Little Brother," Atarek said, mustering some Atrophaney optimism.

Dreibrand embraced his brother. "Take care of yourself, Atarek," he ordered.

Slapping his brother’s back, Atarek said, "Say hello to Sandin Promentro for me."

"I will," Dreibrand said. "And take good care of my horse."

"Thanks for thinking of me before the horse," Atarek joked.

Dreibrand let his brother go and saw Shan waiting for him only a few steps away. As the commandos gathered around Shan, the rys King reported that Tempet and Alloi were deep in spellmaking trances, which meant that they would be distracted and unlikely to detect his invisibility spell. Shan hoped to interrupt them before they could start their attack.

"Let us go," Shan said and pulled his black cloak over his sparkling armor and gleaming shield.

The commandos double-checked their sho dart pistols and pulled their head wrappings over their faces.

Blue fire overtook Shan’s eyes, and he tuned his mind to the heartbeats and souls of the warriors, which would allow him to keep his camouflage spell on them as they moved. Shan’s immense power executed the spell swiftly, and his strike force flickered out of sight. Faychan just barely heard their feet whispering away through the frosted prairie grass.

"Well, Lord Tytido of Nufal," Faychan said graciously. "It is time to do our part."

Reluctantly, Tytido felt a hint of camaraderie with Faychan, but he refused to show it.

"Truly, Faychan," he responded and stalked toward his horse. The army was under his command while Dreibrand and Shan were away, and he would not fail them. And he would most definitely not fail Lydea. Tytido focused on her image and recalled how the peak of ecstasy had enhanced her beauty on their wedding night. No opponent was going to keep him from returning to his beloved bride.

2. The Wretched Thrill

Bravery binds my comrades to me

Loyalty opens the path to glory

Courage breaks our enemy

Discipline brings us victory

—Atrophane soldiers’ song

 

Shan led the commandos in single file. Every one had a partner who was supposed to be ahead of him in line. Gulang moved behind Dreibrand who followed Shan. In this manner, the men and rys would breach the Atrophane perimeter at one point, like a snake into a gopher hole.

Watch fires blazed around the camp, but they lighted the Atrophane more than they drove back the night. The camp was active, no doubt alerted to the movements of Quylan and Tytido.

Dreibrand measured the swath of lights on the black prairie. The Horde that he had served in as an Atrophane officer had been larger than the army before him, but the sight still made him recall the thrill of being part of such a spectacular force. Tonight, he acted as an avenging ghost coming to condemn who he had been in an earlier life.

Through a gap in the watch fires, the commando force slipped over a low wall of soil and crossed a trench into the enemy bivouac. Dreibrand observed the faces of the soldiers on watch duty. It was difficult to believe that they did not see the one hundred warriors passing them.

Inside the camp, soldiers sat around their fires. Most of them had their helmets on, only waiting to buckle the chinstraps. An archer inspected his quiver of arrows, and a cavalryman sat by a fire anxiously spinning his spurs with his fingers.

Dreibrand overheard snips of conversation.

"By Golan, we will be in Jingten before winter."

"They only have two thousand soldiers."

"Tempet could kill them all himself."

Dreibrand doubted the soldier quite grasped the veracity of the idle boast. Tempet’s combat abilities had so impressed Shan that the rys King had adhered to his decision to fight Tempet personally. The commandos had been assigned Alloi as their sole target. Their job was to prevent her from assisting Tempet, which should allow Shan to kill him.

The enchanted force wound its way deeper into the camp, beckoned by the red command tents at the center. For a while, Shan even fell into step behind a soldier, who had no idea that one hundred enemies filled his tracks. Sometimes the line of infiltrators had to break to let an unwitting soldier pass through.

The chestplate armor and uniform of the ranking lieutenant caught Dreibrand’s eye. Once, Dreibrand had worn the same items.

He is returning from an assessment of the perimeter, Dreibrand estimated because the lieutenant appeared to be headed toward the command center to make his report.

According to Atrophane military procedure, the camp had been set up in an orderly grid, and the lieutenant’s path intersected with the path along which the commandos quietly proceeded. Shan stopped just before the lieutenant turned onto their route. Dreibrand tapped Gulang with three fingers, which was the signal to halt. Gulang passed the code to the rys soldier behind him, and the command went down the line.

Unexpectedly, the lieutenant stopped and spun around. Agitated, the man’s brown eyes roved the torchlight, looking for something that had caught his eye.

Dreibrand marveled at how the man looked right through him. Even more surprising was that the officer was not an Atrophane. Dreibrand was sure of it.

While Dreibrand tried to pinpoint the man’s ethnic origin, white light flared beneath the lieutenant’s collar. The lieutenant gasped because ghostly images flickered in front of him. Shan clenched his teeth and reinforced the magical camouflage that had been disrupted by the strong warding crystal worn by the officer.  

The faint outlines of bodies disappeared before the lieutenant could analyze what he had seen. But the sudden heat from the warding crystal against his neck alerted him to the possibility of magic. The incident had to be reported to Tempet and Alloi and he took half a step toward the command center, but then froze.

Shan snared the officer’s mind and soothed his alarm. The warding spell that protected the lieutenant troubled Shan very little now that he knew it was there. The rys’s powerful awareness batted aside the protective spell as if it were only an annoying fly. Gripping the human’s thoughts, Shan scrambled the memory of seeing intruders and he removed the desire to report the news. Then, in consideration of Dreibrand’s goal of taking command of the Atrophane, Shan suggested for good measure, "Betray Sandin Promentro."

 The lieutenant reached into his collar and touched the warding crystal for reassurance. He knew that the tabre were making a great spell, and he assumed that it had caused the crystal to flare. He noticed a few soldiers staring at him because he had been standing there with a strange look on his face. After a scowl from the lieutenant, the soldiers looked away, and he continued toward the command center.

Trailing the disturbed lieutenant, the commandos encircled the red tents in the heart of the camp. The ten thousand soldiers on all sides weighed heavily on the minds of the concealed warriors.

Although camouflaged, Dreibrand ducked behind a tent as his comrades took their places. The red tent fabric near his face mustered many memories, and the imperial banner hanging between the Darhet’s battle flags judged Dreibrand harshly. The symbol of his homeland snapped in the gusting wind as if it wanted to fly loose and smother its insolent son.

Nonsense! Dreibrand told himself. What did I tell Deltane? Nufal is your home. Nufal.

He took a deep breath to steady his resolve.

Many torches illuminated the inner circle of tents. Dreibrand scanned the area, searching for Sandin. The largest tent flapped open and Tempet strode out. The soft edges of his fur cloak contrasted with the hard armor on his chest. Intense white fire filled his eyes, leaving his face in deep shadow. Alloi followed him, and magic blazed across her face as well.

With Tempet and Alloi before him, Dreibrand accepted that agonizing over killing Atrophanes was truly a trifling issue. Sandin came out of his tent next, and Dreibrand overcame his misgivings about civil war entirely. He narrowed his eyes. Sandin would pay for his treatment of Atarek.

Unlike the other warriors, Shan had not crouched behind a tent. He observed his enemies from an open position. A black cloak draped his body, covering the relic shield and sword in his hands.

"Go. Go kill her," Shan ordered aloud.

It seemed that at his bidding, the wind pulled up the edges of his cloak and revealed the gleam of his weapons.

Drawing his sword and sho dart pistol, Dreibrand sprang forward. From this moment onward, he could assume that the camouflage spell would fail. Following his lead, all of the commandos launched into action. Dreibrand ran straight toward Alloi. He refused to be deterred by her femininity.

With her mind still stretched from casting the endurance spell, Alloi could barely comprehend her perception when a charging man formed out of air. She raised her hands to fend off Dreibrand’s advance with a spell just when Dreibrand pulled the trigger. She cast her spell the instant the dart pricked the skin of her palm. A burning wall of magic slammed Dreibrand backward.

He hugged his sword close, hoping to tap strength from its powerful warding crystal. The onslaught of his one hundred companions protected him as he struggled to recover from the painful blow.

Although startled by the intense attack, Tempet immediately defended his sister. His hungry battle cry exploded from his throat, and the bitaran sprang obediently into his hands. The swinging bludgeon hissed through the air, and the commandos jumped aside. Three died, two humans and a rys, their guts smearing across each other’s corpses. Gore blotted the sparkling diamonds when the bitaran emerged from flesh. Blood spattered Dreibrand’s forehead, and his desire to survive drove him to his feet.

Shan intervened before Tempet could slaughter any more attackers. The rys King was able to maintain the camouflage spell around himself until he was within a step of Tempet. Distracted by warriors charging from every direction, Tempet did not sense the approaching lifeforce until the very last instant. His right side was carelessly exposed when Shan became visible and thrust his sword. Tempet evaded sudden death, but the blade cut his right arm. Following his sword stroke, Shan slammed his shield onto Tempet’s wound and cast a blistering attack spell.

With Tempet occupied, Alloi received the full assault of the commandos. Atrophane soldiers and officers rallied to her defense. Alloi leaned drunkenly and shook the dart from her hand. Staggering behind the Darhet, she forced discipline upon her mind and barricaded her physiology against the sho drug as much as possible. The rys soldiers scared her the worst. Their presence dragged her mind into the ruin of the past, making the Great War happen again.

Dreibrand focused on her sluggish retreat with the surety of the wolf that has selected its weakened prey from the herd. He attacked, trading blows with Atrophaney soldiers. He cut down an infantry man, and then a young officer died on his blade. As Dreibrand retracted his bloody sword, seeking for the next place to strike, he made eye contact with Sandin. Even with his face covered, Dreibrand detected that Sandin recognized him. Their venomous gazes spat their mutual hatred at each other, but Sandin denied Dreibrand the luxury of combat. Seizing Alloi’s arm in a strong grip, Sandin shouted for his men to cover his withdrawal.

An explosive attack spell shook the area, making fighters stumble and shield their eyes. Sandin squinted in the flash and glimpsed the dueling blur of Tempet and Shan. Soldiers on both sides avoided their magical conflict that spewed hot destruction like an angry fumarole.

The fray at the command center aroused the rest of the camp, and soldiers already hyped for battle rushed to help.

The commandos continued to spread havoc among the Atrophane. The second attack of their comrades outside the camp would come soon and draw off the Atrophane soldiers. With the aid of sho darts, the commandos expected to have a decent chance of fighting their way out.

Dreibrand pursued Alloi relentlessly. He was determined to prevent her from harassing Shan. And he hoped to kill her and end the fighting even more quickly. He hollered to Gulang and the others for support and fought through a swarm of soldiers toward Sandin.

The commandos yanked torches from the ground and tossed them onto tents as they charged Sandin’s position. Hard pressed, Sandin could not give thought to determining how his camp had been infiltrated.

Ambio Nateve arrived at the Darhet’s side and assessed Alloi with desperate concern. Her breathing was labored, and she had sunk to her knees.

"Sho dart," she explained. "I need a moment to overcome the poison."

"Stop gawking at her, Lieutenant," Sandin barked. "Lead the counterattack."

Ambio gladly redirected his passions to the attackers, shouting orders. Mad with desire to protect Alloi, Ambio confronted a rys soldier and promptly cut him down. It was his first rys kill, and the triumph instilled him with a lust for more.

Dreibrand and his comrades hit the cluster of men around the Darhet. Their fast blades drove aside Atrophane weapons and sliced flesh. Many Atrophane died, overwhelmed by the intense onslaught of rys and human warriors.

Intent on reaching Alloi, Dreibrand encountered Ambio. Their swords crashed, but Dreibrand expertly outmoded him and knocked Ambio into a small tent. Unwilling to waste time on finishing the man, Dreibrand scrambled closer to his female target.

Sandin drew his sword and barred Dreibrand’s advance. The men became momentarily impervious to the fighters killing and dying around them.

Yelling madly, Dreibrand attacked Sandin. The Darhet’s blade barely budged when their swords met, but his boot heels were driven deeper into the ground. He flung Dreibrand’s sword aside and his speedy riposte put Dreibrand on the defensive.

Sandin laughed, delighted by the grudging respect in his opponent’s eyes. "You know you cannot take me," he taunted.

Beyond Sandin, Alloi sank to the ground. She clutched her head as if debilitated by a headache. Her vulnerability beckoned Dreibrand. Momentarily protected from other attacks by his comrades, Dreibrand dueled Sandin fiercely.

While still fighting with an Atrophaney soldier, a rys soldier assisted Dreibrand by casting a heat spell at Sandin. It flared brightly around Sandin’s head, and although his warding protected him from harm, the brightness disoriented him.

Dreibrand struck hard, and Sandin was saved only by his armor. The point of Dreibrand’s sword punched a hole in the armor over Sandin’s heart and the blow knocked him down. One more well-aimed thrust of the sword would finish the Darhet, but Dreibrand did not forsake his last chance at Alloi.

Jumping past the tumbling Sandin, Dreibrand landed in front of Alloi and stabbed at her prone body with all his might. Despite the impairment from the sho drug, Alloi twisted aside and avoided Dreibrand’s descending swordpoint. The sword stuck into the ground next to her ribs. Dreibrand leaned on his sword, halfway off his feet. The warding crystal on the end of the sword handle illuminated their faces, and Dreibrand stared into her eyes. He felt his mind falling into a trap, and his awareness clawed at the edges of his free will.

"Noooo!" he yelled in defiance of her power.

Alloi summoned the energy to cast an attack spell that blasted Dreibrand back. His sword remained planted in the ground next to her. Stunned, Dreibrand could not react when Sandin loomed over him.

The smug face of the Darhet smiled down to him. "I have looked forward to taking you alive, Dreibrand," he said.

Two soldiers seized Dreibrand. He struggled against them as they put him on his feet. The soldier on the right never got a good grip on his arm, and Dreibrand punched him in the face. With his right hand free, Dreibrand yanked his dagger out of the wrappings on his left arm. Dreibrand stabbed the other soldier in the arm. He cried out and let go.

Dreibrand swiped at Sandin and sliced the man’s cheek. Cussing dreadfully, Sandin covered his cheek, shocked by the deep sting.

Dreibrand dove for his sword and rolled back to his feet with the weapon in his hand. He looked for Alloi, but she had regained her feet and scrambled away from him. When she looked over her shoulder, Dreibrand saw the white light glowing in her eyes, which indicated that her powers were recovering rapidly.

More commandos came down on her and she cast an attack spell that killed three soldiers, two rys and one man. Dreibrand jumped over their smoking bodies to confront her. He hacked at her relentlessly with each running leap. A human could not have dodged every stroke of cutting death, but she possessed a greater speed.

Yet another attack spell thwarted Dreibrand, sending him reeling through a campfire. He kicked over a grill and a teapot, showering the area with coals, but their heat was insignificant compared to the burning spell that squeezed his warding.

Dreibrand stayed on his feet and kept moving. He staggered in a circle, intending to attack her again. A fresh wave of Atrophane soldiers stymied him and the other commandos until new attack spells blazed among the Atrophane and broke their lines. Quylan had begun her assault.

Aware of the second attack, Alloi rushed to the Darhet, and a mass of soldiers surrounded them. Dreibrand yelled angrily as she eluded him again.

 Why can I never touch her? he fumed.

Renewing his effort, he attacked soldiers and tried to follow her. Despite his hacking and killing, he made little progress, except for reaching some beleaguered comrades. Atrophanes had surrounded Gulang and the rys who had helped Dreibrand earlier by hitting Sandin with a heat spell. They were relieved to see Dreibrand cut them an escape hole.

"Lord Dreibrand, we must go!" the rys shouted. Like Dreibrand, he had tried until past the last chance to reach Alloi, which had now become a futile cause.

But Dreibrand did not want to give up. In his madness, he might have stayed there to die, unwilling to accept failure, but when Gulang was hit hard and fell against him, Dreibrand accepted the situation. With the rys defending him, Dreibrand grabbed Gulang and kept him on his feet. Blood poured down his face, soaking into his hood.

The mayhem had become intolerable, and all the commandos were retreating. Although stung by his inability to destroy Alloi, Dreibrand decided that he could still save Gulang, which was a worthy goal. The rys grabbed Gulang from the other side, and they fled for their lives.

In the swelling confusion within the camp, they became just three more figures running in the night. When they were recognized as enemies and confronted, they fought again. With heat spells and slashing blades, they gained more ground, and the watch fires on the perimeter drew closer.

Gulang finally stumbled, dragging Dreibrand down. The rys stayed with them and held their pursuers at bay with heat spells. Dreibrand lifted Gulang’s head, fearing to find the man dead. Gulang, however, blinked the blood from his eyes and proved he was still alive.

"Move!" Dreibrand ordered.

A warded soldier had gotten through the rys’s defense and loomed over Dreibrand with a lifted sword. Dreibrand blocked the weapon with his sword. Then he let go of Gulang and tried to stab the soldier with his dagger, but the soldier jumped out of the way. Still on one knee, Dreibrand placed his dagger between his teeth and grabbed Gulang’s pistol from his belt. Fortunately, a dart was in the chamber, and Dreibrand shot the man. In humans, the sho drug acts instantly and cannot be resisted. Paralyzed, the soldier fell over.

Desperate, the rys soldier reached deep within himself and dragged more power out of every fiber of his body than he ever had before. He cast a benign but helpful spell of sleepiness around him, toppling most of the soldiers into a doze.

"Come!" the rys encouraged, dashing ahead of Dreibrand.

Dreibrand put his dagger into its place on his swordbelt and pulled one of Gulang’s arms over a shoulder. With a groan, he heaved the man off the ground and ran after his rys comrade. Dreibrand’s muscles burned from the extra burden.

 Because commanders and sergeants were calling their men to battle, Dreibrand, Gulang, and the rys were able to escape. The darkness beyond the watch fires enveloped them. Forced to rest, Dreibrand stopped and set Gulang down. The rys crashed to his knees beside them, gasping for breath as well.

"Gulang, speak to me," Dreibrand demanded.

"My Lord," he responded feebly.

"Good man. Now on your feet. I cannot carry you around all night," Dreibrand said.

"Leave me," Gulang murmured.

Dreibrand pulled off the hood and found the dent on the helmet. He eased the helmet back and searched the blood-slick hair for the wound.

Gulang groped for his hood and then wiped some blood from his face with it.

"You will live, Gulang," Dreibrand said. "But we have to stop this bleeding." He took the hood from Gulang’s hand and pressed it over the split scalp. Dreibrand asked the rys what his name was.

"Dey," the rys responded.

"Can you do anything for my man?" Dreibrand asked.

Dey nodded but gestured that he required a moment before acting. He had exerted himself tremendously by using more magic than he ever had before in his life.

Dreibrand looked around. The clouds had thickened and completely obscured the stars that would help guide him back to his army, but flashes of attack spells marked its position anyway. Quylan and Alloi were trading blows as the Nufalese force assaulted the Atrophaney ranks.

"Where is Shan?" Dreibrand wondered.

"There," Dey answered. He grabbed Dreibrand’s shoulder and pointed.

A sphere of light abruptly marked the rys King’s position, briefly revealing him and Tempet within a lightning flash of magic. They dueled atop a hill apart from the clashing armies. As Shan had wanted, he had lured Tempet away from his allies, but as of yet, had failed to kill him.

"We have to regroup," Dreibrand said. He could not bear to be a stray from the battle.

Catching a second wind, Dey leaned over Gulang. "I can stop the bleeding," he said and blue sparks snapped from his fingertips as he cauterized the wound.

Gulang bit his lip. A Kezanada must never reveal his position by crying out in pain. 

Dreibrand put the helmet back on the warrior and helped him to his feet. Although Gulang was regaining his senses after being knocked out, he was wobbling.

"I will catch up to you, my Lord," he said.

Reluctant to leave him behind, Dreibrand grabbed his arm again and hauled him forward.

Gulang protested, "My Lord, I thank you for saving me, but I will not delay you. I will catch up."

Dreibrand appreciated the warrior’s selfless attitude. "Are you sure?" he asked.

Gulang would have nodded, but his swimming head made the motion unwise. "I am coming out of it," he said.

"Be careful," Dreibrand said and touched the man on the shoulder to express his admiration and respect.

Dreibrand and Dey departed at a swift run. They saw glimpses of the battle in bursts of magic that illuminated the combatants. Dreibrand recognized that the Atrophane cavalry was organizing a counterattack.

"Damn!" he cursed and ran faster.

Traveling on the fringe of the Atrophane position, Dreibrand and the rys reunited with several escaping commandos. Dreibrand sent one man back to help Gulang. They approached their army from the rear and shouted the password to indicate that they were not enemies.

Dreibrand rushed gratefully into the ranks of his army. Warriors cheered to see more of the commandos returning. Faychan had been receiving the returning commandos, hearing their reports, and then reassigning them to the battle lines. When he heard Dreibrand shouting for him, he urged his horse back through the mix of warriors and horses until he found him.

"At last! I heard you were lost," Faychan cried, lifting the visor of his helmet. He grinned, glad that his information had been wrong.

"Who said that?" Dreibrand said.

"About half the soldiers who made it back. You were seen taken down by the Atrophane," Faychan explained.

"Well, I got back up," Dreibrand said tersely. He was too concerned about the Atrophane cavalry flanking their position to care about the details of his escape. The events were only a blur in his mind anyway, tainted by his failure to cut down Alloi. The line of blood on Sandin’s face flashed into his mind, which granted Dreibrand some satisfaction.

"Where is my brother?" Dreibrand said.

Faychan chuckled grimly. "Killing Atrophane. He was waiting for you here, like you told him to, but when he heard the reports that you were lost, he went berserk."

At, you will get yourself killed, Dreibrand worried. He ordered someone to bring his horse, and then began to question Faychan urgently about the status of Quylan and the battle lines. Faychan said that Quylan and Alloi appeared to be stalemated. Their spells were having little effect on either side. No progress had been made penetrating the Atrophane force.

Dreibrand cursed. "It is hopeless without Shan’s power," he decided. "We are about to be overrun by about two thousand cavalry. We must withdraw. I will go to the front, tell Tytido, and then get Tulair and Quylan. You must coordinate the rearguard. We will move to help Shan. He has removed Tempet from his supporters and battles him in a private duel."

"Shan said to stay away," Faychan reminded.

"I know, but Tempet is exposed, which makes him our logical target because we cannot defeat the Atrophane," Dreibrand said. A soldier arrived with Astar, and Dreibrand sprang into the saddle. He took a quick drink from the canteen tied to his saddle and then took up his shield that had been secured with his gear as well.

"Hey, Faychan," he said. "Hiding the dagger saved me."

The old assassin smiled wickedly as they parted ways.

Dreibrand rode into the thick of battle, shouting to encourage the fighters, letting them know that he was alive. He reacted to the heinous noise of war as if not even a day had gone by since last he had been in a battle. The killing howls and dying screams mixed with the fervent clash of weapons. Dreibrand felt his blood run hot with the wretched thrill of combat. His lethal training buried his fears. He controlled his mount without giving conscience thought to the direction, and when he struck the line of Atrophane, his sword collected the toll for invading Nufal.

He saw Tulair, and moved away from the front line to speak to the rys captain. After shouting more encouragement to his fighters, Dreibrand got the rys’s attention. "Captain, we cannot hold this position and we will soon be charged by cavalry. Get your rys soldiers on our right flank and protect our retreat. I want to move to help Shan."

Tulair processed the information quickly and accepted the decision. Dreibrand searched for Tytido next and found his friend already guarding their withdrawal. The Nufalese assault had failed, and the Atrophane were rushing in hard, squeezing the Nufalese from three sides. Fortunately, the Nufalese force was entirely mounted and they could evade the tangle of Atrophane infantry.

"Dreibrand!" Tytido shouted. The last of the surviving warriors had disengaged, and everyone was riding west. Watching their backs, the two men rode next to each other.

"Where is my brother?!" Dreibrand yelled. He hated to think that Atarek was one of the dark immobile masses on the ground.

"I made him go to Quylan to tell her to get moving," Tytido answered.

Dreibrand could not spare time to express his gratitude to Tytido for watching out for his brother. With his sword, he pointed toward the last spot where he had seen Shan. "Go that way. Find Shan. Help him fight Tempet. I will guard Quylan’s retreat and catch up," he said.

Without waiting for Tytido’s response, he rushed toward Quylan, navigating the cross traffic of retreating riders. In order to protect the warriors from attack spells for as long as possible, the rys Queen would have to move last.

Dreibrand allowed himself to hope that Shan was killing Tempet at that moment. He needed to believe that this rout would not continue.

He reached Quylan and her core of rys bodyguards. She stood inside a blue pillar of light that rose into the night sky. The brilliance of her power cast her bodyguards in silhouette, and Dreibrand could not distinguish if one of them was human.

Atarek, however, saw his brother coming. "By the Gods! Dreiby!" he cried.

Too harassed to enjoy the reunion, Dreibrand asked urgently if communication had been possible with Quylan.

Taf Ila responded, "I have told her that we must move, but I do not think she agrees. She says she is close." The strained rys father did not understand what she meant, and his fear for her was as a wild animal tearing at his guts.

Dreibrand paused. If Quylan would not move, he was torn between protecting her position and aiding Shan.

"Dreibrand, they said you were cut down," Atarek said.

"I was knocked down," Dreibrand corrected. He assessed his brother quickly. Atarek appeared unhurt. "They said you were killing Atrophane."

"That is what must be done, right?" Atarek said dully. "After tonight, I would say we deserve our censure. Look, here come more." He readied his sword and shield. His face hardened with a determination that Dreibrand had never seen there before.

The thunder of a cavalry charge rumbled in the dark. Disregarding the fleeing warriors, the Atrophane charged Quylan’s stagnant position that was now virtually unprotected.

What have I done? Dreibrand thought.

"You have done what you had to do. Hold your ground. It is my time."

Dreibrand did not immediately recognize the voice in his head, until the pillar of energy around Quylan expanded rapidly, and he realized that she had spoken in his mind. The bright swirling magic roiled past him, Atarek, her father, and the rys bodyguards.

The Atrophane riders entered the expanding light and emerged from the night as surreal specters in the blue glow. Their weapons were raised and clods of turf flew upward from the pounding hooves.

Confidence in Alloi’s shield magic made them storm the rys position so boldly, but Quylan welcomed them. She had been waiting for this opportunity. Alloi was overextended protecting so many troops, and Quylan wedged her power into the crack that had finally developed in her enemy’s shield spell.

The attack spell turned the air to fire. The air whistled past Dreibrand and Atarek as it was sucked into the instant conflagration. Riders around Quylan had to steady their mounts and gasp for breath. The Atrophane riders within a sweeping radius had no chance for survival. They burned along with their horses. The only mercy was in the intensity of the spell that consumed them quickly.

With the stench of cooked flesh choking him, Dreibrand looked away. He could not avoid his horror for the soldiers he had just watched die. He had to find a way to make them stop attacking or Shan and Quylan might have to kill them all.

"Sandin knew better than to bring them to this," Dreibrand growled.

Appalled by the awesome destruction, Atarek shared his brother’s sympathy for the dead. He covered his mouth and nose and said nothing.

An eerie quiet replaced the din of battle. The surviving invaders were stunned in the aftermath of Quylan’s massive spell. 

Dreibrand knew they had to seize the moment. He shouted to Quylan and told her that they must rejoin Shan.

Quylan did not acknowledge Dreibrand. Instead, she took a few steps forward until her father jumped from his horse and delayed her. "Quylan, where do you go?" he asked worriedly.

Her burning eyes did not blink. The destruction she had wrought twisted the beauty of her delicate face. She pointed into the heart of the Atrophane.

"No," Taf Ila whispered.

Quylan found his fear menial. He could not grasp the plane of existence she had just achieved.  

3. Strategy Forsaken

The enemies of the Queen of Jingten burned in the furnace of her power. Quylan watched their bright souls streak across the land and then swiftly lose shape before fading into the next world. Although satisfied by the human toll, it was a minor thing when she compared it to the achievement of cracking Alloi’s shield spell.

My youth wins over your age, you hibernating horror, Quylan thought and moved forward. Her father spoke, sounded worried, but she dismissed his timid concerns. The immensity of her spiking powers compelled her to act while Alloi was reeling.

She commanded her bodyguards to stay back, and they dared not disobey after her fiery display.

Quylan strode toward the Atrophane. The cold ground steamed in the aftermath of her searing attack spell, and the vapors swirled around her body.

When she reached the torn edge of the army, Quylan admired the panic she had wrought. After witnessing over a thousand cavalrymen burned to ashes, some men stared vacantly or jabbered in fear. Others coped better but still did not know what to do. Commanders and sergeants attempted to revive discipline, but their voices cracked when they shouted orders.

The first men who saw Quylan emerge from the smoldering field cried out to their Gods. Those who were in her path, she killed. Pumping magic from the deepening well of her power, she reinforced her shield spell, and the arrows and spears that came her way disintegrated in the shimmering blue heat of her protective aura.

Unable to harm Quylan, the humans backed away from her. The parting soldiers thrilled Quylan, proving her new invincibility with their impotence.

Quylan felt as if she had been born for this moment. That all her ambitions had guided her to be Queen so she could defend the Rysamand. With the protective layers of Atrophane soldiers peeled back, Alloi was exposed and Quylan confronted her directly. Blue light illuminated Quylan, and white light surrounded Alloi. They exchanged attack spells, and their flaring magic reflected on the low clouds with a sick glow.

Quylan thought about the clouds draping the frozen peaks of the Rysamand, and the images increased her power. She battered Alloi with successively more fierce attack spells. The fractures forming in Alloi’s shield spell fueled Quylan’s desire to win. Soon she would be blasting Alloi’s unprotected flesh and the war would be half won. Quylan imagined Shan’s gratitude, and then she imagined the gratitude of all the rys. They would revere their new Queen as much as their King.

As Quylan gained strength from the thought of her homeland, Alloi did the same. The blood of many beloved tabre had once muddied the Nufalese plains, and Alloi had pledged her existence to avenging them. Feeling that her shield spell would soon fail, Alloi channeled her mind into another strategy. Her concentration did not falter when Quylan’s attack spell finally shattered the shielding magic around her body.

The rys battle magic singed Alloi’s fur cloak and burned through her white robe. Mimicking the pattern of a frozen river cracking in the thaw, cuts opened on Alloi’s body. The pain burned deeply into her flesh, and cooked blood clung to the edges of her tattered garments.

Alloi’s counterstrike saved her before the attack cut her to pieces. The ground between the female fighters heaved and split. A deep trench opened beneath Quylan and sucked her down. The unexpected descent ended Quylan’s spell as she landed at the bottom of the hot pit.

Alloi filled the trench with magical fire. Quylan disappeared within the ball of white heat, cowering within her shield spell.

"Sandin Promentro, attack her!" Alloi ordered, and the Darhet signaled to his soldiers to approach the hole.

Shan and Tempet lost themselves in their struggle, and the erupting combat between the armies diminished into an insignificant squabble.

Shan sliced Tempet’s right biceps open with his first surprise strike and then pressed the Shield of Dacian onto Tempet’s bleeding arm. The shield drained Tempet’s power like a spider tapping the juices of its victim.

Desperate to escape the touch of the shield, Tempet jumped back and switched his bitaran into his left hand. Clenching his right arm against his side, he staggered between two tents. Shan pursued his opponent, excited by the injury that he had inflicted.

The warm flow of blood inspired Tempet to greater courage. He had survived the final awful battle of the Great War, and he refused to be weakened by one wound.

I am the strongest warrior, he thought. Despite the maiming, Tempet met Shan with a fierce reprisal. Even one-handed, he could wield his bitaran like the attack of a dozen trained warriors. The bludgeon smashed, and the spear thrust as Tempet and his weapon spun around Shan.

Shan blocked the enchanted skewer and swiped at Tempet. The tabre leaped away from the blade and attacked with the bludgeon end of his weapon. The cold sparkling head of the bitaran smashed into Shan’s shield. Tiny lightning bolts crackled every time their enchanted weapons met.

Firing attack spells at each other with increasing abandon, they crossed the Atrophaney encampment. Some soldiers died in their path, blown away by spells. Dimly aware of the indiscriminate killing, Shan drove the fight away from the humans.

Ridding his heart of mercy, Shan labored against Tempet. No revulsion for killing touted its moral arguments as he defended the future of his race.

Tempet exchanged blows with Shan with increasing speed while weathering Shan’s blistering spells. As each blow of his weapon landed, Tempet remembered the face of a fallen tabre comrade, but his fury could not overwhelm Shan.

After expending mighty efforts to kill each other, the rys and the tabre stalled at the exact same moment. Shan had never imagined being fought to a standstill. Panting, they stared at each other across the top of a grassy knoll, groping for the strength to resume the struggle.

With his chest heaving inside his armored torso, Tempet managed to speak. "You fight like a female," he said and expected the insult to provoke a reckless response.

Shan found no shame in the criticism. My magic will prevail over your weapon skill, he promised.

Shan gathered his magic around his vision of Tempet’s destruction as Tempet lifted his bitaran, ready to resume the battle. Shan assembled the last elements of his devastating spell, but his lethal concentration slipped when Quylan’s screams rang his head. She did not call for help, but her mind broadcast her need.

Her mental wail of weakness snared the attention of Tempet as well. He knew immediately that his sister had trapped the female rys, and Alloi summoned him to the kill. Tempet hesitated, but the sound of approaching riders urged him to return to his sister. Separated from Alloi and his army, Tempet suddenly worried that a trap had been set for him.

"Tempet, come back to me," Alloi commanded firmly, and her concern made Tempet aware of his wound again.

He lunged at Shan, and the bitaran extended forward like a fishing spear. Shan dove aside to avoid its enchanted point that pierced the ground where he had just stood. Satisfied the he had foiled Shan’s simple plan, Tempet abandoned the duel. 

Shan rolled to his feet and intended to cast a potent spell at Tempet as he fled. But the swelling ball of light faded from Shan’s lifted palm when Nufalese riders overtook Tempet.

The riders attacked Tempet, and Shan admired their bravery. He had cautioned them not to fight Tempet, even ordered them to stay back. But their disobedience did not displease the King of Jingten when he saw Tempet dodging their spears and arrows.

Tytido galloped toward Tempet with the confidence of someone approaching a practice target. He roared the battle cry of his tribe and hurled his spear. It bounced off Tempet’s armor but dented the cityscape pressed into the metal chestplate. The blow knocked over Tempet, but he rallied his strength swiftly to his defense. His powerful spell exploded among the nearest riders. Shan tossed a net of shielding magic over them just in time to save them.

Tempet regained his feet, but the impact of the spear reverberated in his wounded arm. He ran from his swarming enemies and cleared a path with his bitaran. It swiped low and destroyed a horse leg. It struck high and killed a rider.

Shan chased Tempet, who ran into the ranks of Atrophane that had closed around Quylan and Alloi. The warriors followed the rys King even though they headed directly for the Atrophaney force from which they had just retreated. Dreibrand, Atarek, and Quylan’s bodyguards rushed to join their comrades in the renewed assault.

Shan did not pause to aid his warriors against the human soldiers. It was too important that he catch Tempet before he could reach Quylan. Shan did not fear to run into the heart of the enemy army. Any soldier who opposed him died before hitting the ground. Still, the soldiers impeded him, and their increasing frenzy to support their tabre master kept them coming.

The urge to slay all the nearby soldiers in a mass killing and thereby clear a path popped into Shan’s mind.

I could do more than that, he thought but resisted turning down that broad avenue of his power.

Once again among his obedient soldiers, Tempet welcomed the boost their presence gave to his powers. He had not anticipated his surgical removal from his supporting forces. For the first time since the beginning of the surprise attack, he wondered how Shan and so many soldiers had gotten into their camp.

But his mind quickly dropped analytical matters when he neared the youthful rys Queen in the clutches of his army. His bitaran had tasted the sweet nectar of her blood, and it would do so again.

Atop a mound of displaced ground, Sandin urged his soldiers toward the pit that contained the trapped rys Queen. Between attack spells from Alloi, the human warriors cast their spears and fired their arrows into the trench. Quylan lashed back with her battle magic as she clawed at the sides of her prison. Soldiers died at the rim, and some tumbled down to join her.

I will fill this pit with bodies to get out if I must, she thought crazily. The charred men draping the edge of her prison were meaningless debris to her.

But a chilling shriek shook the smoky air and reminded Quylan of a power she respected. The scars on her body burned and the skin split. Blood flowed beneath her armor.

The soldiers fell back from the pit, and she heard one runner approaching. Knowing and fearing who it was, Quylan gave up her mindless effort to climb out of the pit. She worked her levitation magic and gained a handhold on the rim. Ignoring the rising pain in her shoulder, she started pulling herself out.

Tempet saw her desperate hand reach out of the hole, and her pitiful effort filled him with glee. He ran toward her, and just as she emerged, he kicked her face. Quylan flew back into her trap and landed at the bottom.

An attack spell from Alloi followed her brother’s kick. Tempet had to turn away from the boiling air. Rushing up behind Tempet with a trail of bodies behind him, Shan saw his Queen knocked low between their enemies, and he saved Quylan from the deadly blast with his shield spell.

Tempet stepped aside and narrowly avoided the sword driving for his torso. The blade scraped across his armor, and Shan pressed his shield against Tempet’s dangling wounded arm. Shan had learned how to use the shield more effectively, and he connected his mind to the enchantment within the relic. With a violent hunger, he consumed the energy that the shield sucked from his opponent.

Tempet cried out and twisted his bitaran toward Shan. He tried to extend the piercing end of the weapon, but the point reached out only slightly and then retracted in weakness.

They grappled physically, each striving to hurt the other while holding their weapons back. Tempet swung Shan over the pit. Shan supported himself with a levitation spell and pushed Tempet back. They continued to struggle at the edge.

Recovering from her fall, Quylan began to cast her spells again. Blood dripped from her lips and sizzled on her heated armor. Quylan and Alloi connected in a blazing flow of magic. Attack spell and shield spell became indistinguishable as the battle seethed between the females.

Sandin, who had fallen back when Tempet arrived, ordered his men back into the fight. Nufalese warriors and rys soldiers stormed into the breach opened by Shan, and they rushed to support their leader. With a great portion of the cavalry gone, the Nufalese riders made progress against the infantry, especially with Alloi occupied.

Tulair and the rys soldiers concentrated on reaching Alloi. Dreibrand, Faychan, and Tytido moved to help Shan because their enchanted blades gave them a greater chance of hurting Tempet.

"Atarek, stay with Gulang. Concentrate on keeping a path open for our escape," Dreibrand ordered. He saw that his brother wanted to dispute him, to stay by his side, but Atarek accepted his crucial role.

"I will keep the back door open for you, Brother," Atarek yelled. "Go kill those bastards."

Amid the grim combat, the brothers exchanged a tender look. Atarek did not envy his brother who hurried to face a colossal foe, and Dreibrand worried terribly for Atarek in the disorder that ruled the night. Dreibrand recognized the deteriorating situation. Strategy had been forsaken. Dreibrand had watched with helpless horror as Quylan abandoned her position and recklessly plunged into the heart of the enemy. Commanders had no chance to think through their moves. Every second presented a new danger, and the warriors were simply reacting.

Magic lit the scene. Soldiers moved in the flickering light like scuttling beetles in a nightmare. In the brighter flashes, the wide screaming mouths of the dying were revealed, but the screams were indistinct in the din. The ground shook from intensifying attack spells. A few drops of cold rain descended with the sharpening wind, but no one noticed.

Tulair led his rys soldiers toward Alloi. Atrophane soldiers died for her defense, cut down by spears, knives, and spells. Tulair was the first to reach Alloi. He threw his long knife at the last soldier in his way, and then jumped off his horse and deftly plucked his blade from the man as he fell. Casting a shield spell, he charged the female tabre.

Alloi had been so involved with Quylan that she had not realized that the rys soldiers had sliced through her human defenders so quickly. Physically dodging the swiping rys knife, Alloi switched her attacks to Tulair. He survived her first blast and bravely sought to cut her flesh again.

Quylan gasped as Alloi’s last attack spell ended. The rush of power that had intoxicated Quylan had subsided, and she felt depleted. When she looked up and saw her father looming over the pit, she was immensely grateful. Taf Ila reached down to her and she sprang toward his hand. The wreckage that had replaced her beautiful face dismayed Taf Ila. Her bleeding lips were swelling and turning black.

As Taf Ila pulled her up, Quylan spared no time to even thank him for the rescue. She immediately turned her attention to Shan, who fought on the opposite side of the hole. Blue fire blazed in her eyes and she reached deep within herself for the power to attack Tempet. When her spell struck him, he jerked forward like a puppet in a strong wind, and his bitaran flailed wildly. He fell into Shan’s striking sword, and the blade penetrated the armor that Quylan had superheated and softened with her attack spell.

Tempet lurched back, stung by the enchanted sword point. It had cut through two ribs and grazed a lung. The pain raced up his air passages until his head reeled with the agony.

Dreibrand rode up behind Tempet and swiped at the reeling tabre with his sword. Dreibrand managed to slice him on the back of the neck behind the left ear.

Saved from decapitation only by luck, Tempet somersaulted backwards into the pit to escape the fury of his multiple attackers.

Shan snarled with frustration at Tempet’s amazing speed. Dreibrand, Faychan, and Tytido spread out around the pit, ready to stop Tempet if he tried to escape. Shan and Quylan combined their power and encased Tempet in a sustained attack spell. He writhed on the broken ground, and raindrops hissed as they struck the dome of destructive energy over him.

Keenly aware of her twin’s failing defenses, Alloi rid herself of the rys captain and many of his comrades. She obliterated Tulair’s shield spell and blasted his head from his shoulders. Throwing her hands wide, she bombed the area with magic and even killed a few Atrophane.

Free of the rys attackers, Alloi forced back her brother’s tormentors. Dreibrand, Tytido, and Faychan survived her attack spell only because of the powerful wardings that covered them and their horses.

Despite his pain, Tempet reacted instantly once his sister’s support arrived. He leaped out of the hole and directed his power into the ground. An explosion below Quylan hurled her and her father in different directions. Tempet landed on the blackened craggy ground between them. He staggered toward the lovely rys female, whose existence offended him into the depths of madness, and he thrust his gruesome weapon at her body. Quylan braced her enchanted armor with her magic. The crystals that studded the armor glowed, and blue fire crawled up the shaft of the bitaran that hovered her heart. Her will made her armor as hard as diamonds, but she could not maintain the perfection of the protective enchantment. Against Tempet’s fierce strength and magic, Quylan’s power finally failed. The bitaran flashed with triumphant white light.

Quylan did not scream, but Shan felt the shaft sinking through the flesh of his mate, and he screamed for her. Without even thinking if he could accomplish the feat, he leaped across the pit, buoyed by levitation magic that streaked behind him like a comet’s tail.

Tempet lifted his weapon out of Quylan’s body and blocked Shan’s blows. The blood of the Queen of Jingten dripped from the bitaran’s sharp crystals that glowed purple through her thick blood. Shan struck at his hated rival again and again, casting attack spells each time his blade hit his enemy.

Alloi struck Shan with an attack spell. Faltering in the heavy storm of her magic, Shan could not duck behind his shield quick enough to avoid Tempet’s swinging bitaran. Only partially deflected by the shield, the bludgeon struck Shan a glancing blow across his right eye.

Shan fell back and landed next to Quylan’s unmoving body. The sprawled forms of the rys monarchs presented Tempet with a pleasing image of his victory. He had waited inside hard stone for over two thousand years, but at last, Nufal would have her revenge.

"Nufal!" he cried and lifted his enchanted weapon. The spear end sharpened and lengthened, glowing brightly as if just taken from the furnace of an enchanted forge. Tempet promised himself that he would mutilate their bodies and sit for days to watch the parts decompose.

But his tunnel vision and sick anticipation for the rewards of victory did not serve him. The human allies of Shan braved the triumphant power of Tempet to defend their King. As a single enchanted wave, Dreibrand, Tytido, and Faychan overran Tempet. Their swords battered at the cruel dark creature who brought only pain to Nufal.

Denied his final stroke of victory, Tempet felt his power wane. The agony of his wounds overcame his rage, and in his condition, he could not cope with three swiping blades that confused his magical perception. Tytido and Faychan continued to push him away. They were equally surprised to still be alive and to be making progress against the terrible Tempet. An attack spell from Alloi finally separated them from her twin. Their horses reared and the men choked on the hot air from which their wardings barely protected them. Tempet staggered into a group of Atrophane soldiers and sank to his knees.

Dreibrand jumped from his horse and went to Shan. With his left arm, Dreibrand lifted Shan’s head. The buckler strapped to his forearm was a platter beneath the King’s head. The right side of the rys’s face was broken and bleeding purple blood. Swollen raggedy flesh bloated over the right eye, but the left eye opened and blazed with blue light.

Shan moved his lips. "Drei…" but he could not finish the name of his friend.

"Up, my King," Dreibrand said. Driven by his intense fear, Dreibrand hoisted Shan to his feet and reached for Astar’s bridle with his right hand that still held his sword.

"Help me!" Taf Ila cried, tugging at his daughter’s limp body.

Dreibrand pitied the futility of the rys father’s actions. Draping Shan against his saddle, Dreibrand pushed the rys up. Shan gripped the saddle.

Tytido and Faychan along with the few surviving rys soldiers kept Atrophane spearmen and swordmen at bay only a few paces away. Unable to ignore Taf Ila’s plight, Dreibrand hollered to the closest rys soldiers to assist him.

Leaving Shan clinging to Astar, Dreibrand forcefully relieved Taf Ila of his daughter and ordered him to get on a horse with one of the rys soldiers. When Taf Ila protested, Dreibrand shoved him toward the rys rider who extended hand so Taf Ila could get on the horse. Beckoning a second rys, Dreibrand lifted Quylan over his horse. The rys soldier pulled her across his lap, and his miserable horror over the state of his Queen showed on his face.

"Withdraw!" Dreibrand shouted. "Withdraw!"

He hardly needed to give the order. His battered force had to flee. Tytido and Faychan defended Dreibrand as he mounted his horse and dragged Shan up with him.

They retreated west. Every man and rys still hoped to make another stand in the defense of Jingten. Dreibrand had no way of knowing how many of his warriors had died. He was only glad to hear the thunder of comrades riding next to him through the thick stench of burned flesh. The cold rain fell harder, hurting his face as the angry northwest wind cut across his hectic path.

Atarek, are you with us? Riding near me in the dark? Dreibrand thought.

Dreibrand’s arm muscles cramped and flamed, but he would not let go of Shan. They rode until even the young Astar began to sag beneath his burden. The rain streaked through the froth on the colt’s chest. Dreibrand stopped and ordered a halt. His hoarse voice was weak in the stormy dark. Tytido dismounted and rushed to assist with the lowering of the rys King. The loyal Hirqua warrior gently placed Shan on the comfortless ground where freezing rain puddled.

Dropping to his knees next to the King, Dreibrand held the warding crystal on his sword next to Shan’s face. Tytido hissed with a startled intake of air.

"Shan," Dreibrand whispered with tragic fear. "What can I do?"

Only a trace of blue light burned below the sagging lid of the left eye. Shan tasted the rain on his lips, but before he could speak, Taf Ila started shouting.

"Help my treasure! Help my beautiful rysling!" he cried. He jumped from the horse that he had ridden with the other rys soldier and scrambled to the rider who had carried Quylan.

"Is she alive?" Shan asked, afraid to hope.

Dreibrand and Tytido looked at each other. Neither of them had any reason to say yes.

Shan lurched upright so suddenly that Dreibrand had to dodge him.

"Where is she?" Shan demanded, swinging his head drunkenly as if he did not understand why his vision was reduced.

Dreibrand took his hand and they got to their feet together. Shan touched the right side of his face, and then retracted his hand quickly as the pain flared from his touch. Staggering slightly, Shan used his advanced rys senses to locate Quylan.

Taf Ila sobbed over her body. Rys soldiers and humans stood back from his grief.

"Heal her, my King," Taf Ila pleaded.

Shan sank beside her. The gaping hole in her armor over her heart was a hopeless abyss. The bloody facial wounds enhanced what remained of her beauty.

Shan touched her cheek. Her soul was gone. Shan imagined her in the warm bliss of the next world and envied her comfort. Without emotion, he said, "She is dead."

"Heal her!" Taf Ila shrieked.

Shan stood up and turned away. He did not have the luxury of the raving display in which her father now indulged. Taf Ila lunged for Shan, but two soldiers stopped him. Everyone knew that if even one broken piece of life remained in Quylan, then Shan would try to heal her.

Quylan, Shan thought. Her loss spawned a dreadful anger inside him and deep shadow embraced his mind.

Dreibrand asked Shan what they should do. When Shan did not answer, Dreibrand contemplated the horrible possibilities. Much against his nature, he murmured, "Have we lost?"

Shan swung his functioning eye onto his human friend. The sudden blaze of magic from the one eye made Dreibrand lean away slightly.

"No," Shan said.

Although it was the answer that Dreibrand wanted to hear, Shan uttered the syllable with ominous certainty.

4. Shattered Devotion

No soldiers dared to help Tempet after he collapsed. They either feared to touch him or were not moved to pity their tabre champion. The soldiers stood still in the cold rain that doused their bloodlust that had flamed like a droughted forest in a lightning storm. The bodies littering the ground crushed their expectations, and ashy heaps with melted metal remnants were all that marked some of the Atrophane dead.

The endurance spell, however, still throbbed within the bodies of the Atrophane fighters, and the Darhet ordered his forces to regroup. He intended to pursue the survivors, and his officers scrambled to rally the soldiers.

Alloi rushed to help her brother. Her tabre grace failed her as she floundered on the broken muddy land and crumbled at Tempet’s side. Her gentle hands took him by the shoulders, and her magic soothed his agony.

Alloi probed the wounds with her warm thoughts, and she discovered that Tempet had been ravaged badly during his duel with the rys King.

"You should rest," she said.

Defiant fire flared from Tempet’s eyes and glinted on his dented armor. Even his great pain could not dim his elation from killing the rys Queen. 

"We shall continue," Tempet said.

"Tempet," Alloi argued mentally.

"Enough of your caution!" he snapped back. "Our army has many hours of strength left. Heal me, Sister. Now."

Without further protest, Alloi poured her heart into the healing spells. She feared for her brother and wanted him to be as strong as possible when he met Shan again.

With his ribs knitting, Tempet deepened his breathing. Pleased by the progress, Alloi switched her power to mending his arm, but her mind recoiled from the sliced muscle. Edges of necrotic flesh peeled back from the open wound. The Shield of Dacian had sucked from the flesh vitality that could not be put back. The wound would not respond to healing magic, and Alloi worried that her brother could lose his arm.

"Make a sling," Tempet commanded stoically and held the useless limb across his torso. He was aware of the irreparable damage, but he still had three limbs left with which to kill Shan.

Ambio Nateve walked up to the tabre. Although he was one of the more battle-hardened officers, he looked shaken.

"The Darhet seeks to know your status, my Lady," he said, addressing Alloi with deference.

"We shall continue," she replied heavily but then sensed that Ambio’s thoughts were troubled. She took a moment to reassure him. "You fought bravely, Ambio Nateve. You served us well." She touched his shoulder with a gentle kindness that immediately rekindled his spirits.

Tempet, however, did not regard Ambio so generously. Detecting a suspicious hint of confusion within the man’s mind, Tempet glared at him while Alloi tied the sling around his arm.

"Assemble the Darhet and his officers," Tempet ordered tersely.

"Yes, Lord Tempet," Ambio responded. He saluted the tabre and left to do his bidding.

The army began to aid its wounded as the officers gathered for their meeting. When Tempet and Alloi arrived, they heard Sandin encouraging his officers with reports of their success. Sandin was impervious to the rain tapping on his jeweled helmet and streaming down his heavy silk cape. The conquest of the rys was actually happening, and the glory immunized him to physical hardship.

"The Queen of Jingten is dead. The pitiful forces that dared to ambush us in the dark are fleeing. We shall hunt them down," Sandin said.

"And Shan is wounded," Tempet announced and hefted his bitaran. "One more blow from me and he will be removed from this world."

The Atrophane shouted approval although some of them, including Commander Fanlyre, privately noted that Tempet was wounded as well.

"Let us waste no time," Sandin declared. "Our enemies are weary and we still burn for battle. Lord Tempet shall lead us onward."

Sandin expected Tempet to take eagerly to Shan’s trail, but other business interested the tabre.

"Hold!" Tempet cried. "I would know how so many fighters appeared in the center of our supposedly guarded camp." His hot eyes shifted toward Ambio. As the Darhet’s high lieutenant, Ambio was responsible for coordinating perimeter security.

"Surely, it was Shan’s magic that made the surprise attack possible," Alloi said, annoyed by her brother’s inexplicable desire for delay after he had insisted on immediate action. The attack had been repelled, and Alloi saw no reason to give it further thought.

"I doubt Shan can make so many soldiers impregnable to my senses," Tempet argued arrogantly. "Or, what of you, Sister? Do you believe that so many men could be hidden from your great mind? Would you overlook the reeking presence of the rys King?"

"Our minds were occupied with the endurance spell," Alloi said.

"Bah!" Tempet scoffed. "We were betrayed." He scanned the assembled officers, sparing only the Darhet his accusing gaze.

Appalled, Sandin asked if Tempet had any proof of his claim.

Tempet said, "My proof is that magic strong enough to cloak so many warriors could not have escaped my notice. Shan had conventional help. Someone must have arranged for there to be a gap in the perimeter."

The word betrayed rang in Ambio’s head. He did not know why it frightened him so much. He possessed no guilt.

"Do you suspect someone?" Alloi demanded.

Promptly, Tempet said, "Lieutenant Nateve arrived at the council just before the attack. And he was returning from his perimeter inspection."

Startled, Ambio looked to Alloi for help, but she suddenly did not exhibit the warmth that he cherished. Next, he turned to Sandin. "My Lord, I protest. I swear there was no sign of Shan’s entry."

Tempet’s circumstantial suspicions bothered Sandin on a distant level, but he was eager to begin his hunt. The King of Jingten and the Veta brothers remained to be claimed as valued trophies.

"Lord Tempet, I would have you investigate your suspicions quickly. Scan the minds of my men for the truth if you will," Sandin said.

Fear flowed through Ambio’s body like a rapid poison. Diverting the tabre, Ambio pointed at Fanlyre. "Commander Fanlyre is more of a suspect than I could ever be. He set up the east perimeter, and he has spent the most time among our enemies. Lived with them. Ate at their table. No doubt drank their wine," Ambio said.

Fanlyre froze. He could feel all eyes upon him, ready to believe him guilty.

"Then peer into Fanlyre’s mind," Sandin said. "Do what will appease you, Lord Tempet."

The Darhet’s careless words offended Fanlyre. How could the Darhet, an Atrophane noble, so carelessly condone the interrogation of his officers? Although confused by this mystery that opposed all Atrophaney custom, Fanlyre realized he had to attend to his own survival.

"My Lord Darhet, let me not stand accused by a Cinivese. I appeal to you, my Lord, as noble-to-noble, to respect my class. Let he that was accused first be cleared before I must be humiliated," Fanlyre said. He withstood Ambio’s horrible glare, which Fanlyre considered far more tolerable than risking another magical inspection of his thoughts.

Sandin actually heeded Fanlyre’s plea. The provincial officer should prove himself before an Atrophane noble stood accused.

"If you would observe Commander Fanlyre’s privilege of birth, I ask you to start with Lieutenant Nateve," Sandin said.

Tempet did not seem to care who was first. Ambio’s immediate attempt to throw off blame only damned him in Tempet’s opinion.

"Very well," Alloi said with exasperation.

Ambio stiffened as she grabbed his mind, and all the officers held their breath.

Although Fanlyre had reflected the accusation back at Ambio, he pitied the man gripped in the vise of Alloi’s inescapable mind. I did not expect this witch hunt, Fanlyre thought. But do any of us truly know what to expect from these creatures? Distressed by his questioning mind, Fanlyre tried to think about nothing.

Alloi halted her examination after a short time. The image of Shan in Ambio’s mind had startled her, and she was not as thorough as usual. Ambio had seen the rys King just before the surprise attack.

Disappointed, Alloi delivered her finding and added, "He has thought to betray you, Sandin Promentro."

"No!" Ambio shouted. "That is impossible!" He gaped at Alloi with disillusion. He loved serving her, and she condemned him with lies that he could not understand.

Ambio whirled toward the Darhet and opened his mouth to proclaim his innocence, but he never uttered a word. A loud gurgle was his last sound as Sandin slammed a dagger into his throat. Ambio reached up to his gushing neck. His eyes bulged with disbelief for his fate.

Sandin handed his dagger to Recey for cleaning. "May we go now?" he said irritably.

Tempet watched the human crumble to the ground. With Ambio bleeding to death, Tempet decided that he was satisfied. He snickered at the Darhet’s swift punishment and gave the order to march.

Fanlyre, stunned by what had happened, walked woodenly toward his horse. The dispersing officers and soldiers oozed across his perception as his mind remained fixed on the abrupt killing. Guilt over his contribution to Ambio’s death tore at his conscience even if he had little respect for the provincial who had weaseled his way to high rank. The evidence had been too minimal for Ambio to deserve such an instant execution. Fanlyre asked himself how many of his thoughts could Alloi misinterpret? How fast would the Darhet’s dagger strike?

He touched the warding crystal tied around his neck but its reassuring influence was gone. His pleasant devotion to Alloi had been shattered, as if he had just seen his first love kissing another man.

A flagbearer passed Fanlyre, and he looked up at the soggy Atrophane banner, dim in the sputtering torchlight.

Do any of us still serve Atrophane? Or are we simply the tools of these mad beasts? Fanlyre wondered. I must try to do what is best for the soldiers under my command, he decided, falling back on the basics of his military training. That duty remained sound, and he could go to battle again with that to guide his heart.

******

As Dreibrand assessed the survivors, an increasing panic constricted his heart. Where was Atarek? Dead on the dark plains?

Dreibrand squashed the thought. The possibility destroyed his courage like a fierce flood taking a bridge. His warriors looked to him for strength and guidance. Many of them had just lost friends and relatives. He could not give in to his terror.

Composing himself, Dreibrand walked up to Kashil. "Have you seen my brother?" he asked calmly.

Kashil stood by his horse’s head, using the animal for some protection from the freezing rain as he tried to bandage his arm. The Bosta man shook his dripping head.

Dreibrand moved on to Gulang, hoping that Gulang’s presence meant that Atarek had escaped as well. Chaining his emotions like an unruly prisoner, Dreibrand asked about his brother.

Unable to look directly at Dreibrand, Gulang reported that he and Atarek had been fighting to guard the retreat. He had seen Atarek’s horse cut down, and Atarek fall into the midst of attacking infantry.

"My Lord, I saw him fighting, but there were Atrophane everywhere. I could not reach him, and then I could no longer see where he was, and I could not…." Gulang stopped speaking, stricken by shame. After Dreibrand had saved him during the commando raid, Gulang loathed himself for not being able to return the favor and assist his lord’s brother.

"Did you see him killed?" Dreibrand demanded.

Gulang shook his head.

Reverting to the role of a commander who must maintain morale, Dreibrand said, "I know you did your best." He walked away.

Dreibrand wandered back to Astar. He could not give thought to any action except waiting for Shan to give him an order. With the ability to function slipping away, Dreibrand tasted of the rotten food that he had shoved down his brother’s throat. Now, he knew how Atarek had felt when he received the letter stating that Dreibrand was missing in action.

Holding the colt’s bridle, Dreibrand hid his face next to Astar’s long nose. "I am so sorry," he murmured.

As Dreibrand discreetly despaired, Shan emerged from his healing trance. He had closed the wounds on his face, but the swelling still consumed his right eye. During his cursory treatment, he had determined that his right eye might never see again.

Acutely troubled by his grief and dire situation, Shan approached Quylan’s body. Taf Ila still sobbed over her corpse. When he looked up, he grimaced at Shan with profound hate.

"You," Taf Ila snarled. "You brought her to this!"

Shan let the rys’s outrage pass over him. With tragic calm, Shan said, "I will regret this forever, but, Taf Ila, let not Quylan’s death be in vain. She gave herself for one reason and that was to defend Jingten. Captain Tulair is dead as well. I ask you, Taf Ila, to resume your old rank and lead our soldiers. Our enemy pursues us at this moment and they will overtake us with the first light of dawn."

Taf Ila wrestled with the madness of his grief. Bombarding Shan with insults would not bring his daughter back. And Jingten needed to be defended. He kissed Quylan’s cold hand and returned to his feet.

"Yes, my King," Taf Ila said.

Shan waited for the reinstated captain to salute. Although they could not be bound by their sorrow for Quylan, Shan still expected to be respected as the King. Taf Ila most likely would hate him for the remaining centuries of his life, but Shan would still require obedience from him. With difficulty, Taf Ila resumed the rigors of duty and saluted.

Satisfied, Shan continued, "Captain, when the enemy reaches us, I will stop them. You must fall back. If I am not successful, flee home and destroy the eastern pass. If all the rys put their magic together, you can break the mountains and clog the pass with rubble."

Astounded by the thought, Taf Ila shook his head. "How?" he whispered.

"You and the other soldiers can do it if you try. You will do it to protect our home," Shan said.

Starting to accept the possibility, Taf Ila said, "My King, even that will not stop Tempet and Alloi."

Shan nodded. "But it will stop the human army. Tempet and Alloi, despite their power, are only two rys. You can kill them before they kill all of us."

Taf Ila did not know what to say. If his powerful daughter had not prevailed against them, then how could he and the other common rys expect to do it? Suddenly he needed his King very much.

"I will not fail," Shan assured him.

Shan turned and took a few steps until he realized that he was not walking in a straight path. He had relied on his conventional sight more than he thought. Learning to compensate for his lost vision would take some practice. Correcting his course, he went to Dreibrand and informed him that the Atrophane were coming.

Dreibrand said heavily, "We shall stand against them, if that is your will, but we are too few to face that army."

"No, you shall fall back. I have already ordered Taf Ila to move away with the rys soldiers. I will stop the army," Shan said.

Dreibrand looked into the shadows that covered the rys King’s torn face. He knew that the fair and kind being who he trusted was still inside, but he dreaded the destruction that Shan had to be planning if he was dismissing his warriors.

"What will you do?" Dreibrand asked cautiously.

Shan put a hand on the human’s shoulder as if bidding even the concept of friendship farewell. "What I must, Dreibrand. What I must," he said.

Disturbed by the cryptic reply, Dreibrand started to ask for details, but Shan pushed the questions back into Dreibrand’s mind. There would be no discussion.

"Dreibrand," Shan said sternly with a tone that would be obeyed. "Fall back with your men. Go as soon as your brother reaches us."

"Atarek?" Dreibrand cried. "You have seen him?"

"Yes, when I observed our enemy," Shan replied. "He is approaching our position on foot. I am sorry, Dreibrand. You must have thought him lost. Forgive me for not mentioning it right away."

"Oh, Shan, forget your apologies. Guide him to me," Dreibrand said jubilantly and sprang onto his horse with new vigor.

Dreibrand’s joy pleased Shan, who savored the fleeting happiness amid so much woe.

"Go, Dreibrand, go get him," Shan said. He would have allotted himself one last smile, but his painfully inflamed face prevented it.

Dreibrand galloped into the rainy predawn murk. Alone on the dark plains, he shouted for his brother, heedless of the advancing Atrophane army.

"Atarek! Atarek!" he yelled into the rain.

Dreibrand yanked the bindings from his sword handle to expose the warding crystal. He drew the sword and waved it, hoping that the small light from the warding crystal could attract Atarek.

"By the Gods! Are you the only one left, Little Brother?" Atarek shouted from the darkness.

Astar snorted as Dreibrand hauled back on the reins and jumped to the ground. He slipped on slick clumps of grass, and before he could get up, Atarek loomed over him. Rain dripped from Atarek’s long hair hanging below his helmet, and he pulled Dreibrand up. Dreibrand embraced his brother and laughed with relief.

"No, I am not the only one. But as usual, you are late and holding up the show," Dreibrand said.

Cherishing the intensity with which his brother’s armored arms gripped him, Atarek said, "Why should I hurry? I have been here for months and you were never so glad to see me before."

Dreibrand could not defend himself. He gave Atarek another hug before letting him go. "Atarek, I was always glad to see you. Gods, you have been right to chastise me. I have been awful to you."

Atarek chuckled robustly as if he had not just fled on foot from a crazy battle. "You thought I was dead, didn’t you?" he surmised.

"At, shut up and get on the horse," Dreibrand said.

"Very well. This is no place to be. Trust me, your old military buddies are not too far away," Atarek said. He clambered gratefully into the saddle.

When Dreibrand mounted, Atarek said generously, "I accept your apology, Dreibrand. My hurt feelings are forgotten, provided you get moving."

"What happened to you?" Dreibrand said.

"I was doing all right until my horse got killed. Then, soldiers were all over me. I tell you, Dreiby, I fought them off like I had been in the army my whole life. But if it was not night, I do not think I could have gotten away. In the dark, the soldiers lost track of me. Knowing I had no chance against so many, I pretended to be dead. Threw myself between some bodies." Atarek stopped. He had not reviewed the horror of that experience until he spoke of it. He was very glad that it had been dark. "When things calmed down, I left," he concluded.

"You were lucky, Brother," Dreibrand said gratefully.

"Yeah. Too bad I was not betting money," Atarek said. Trying to shake off the memories and images that his mind was processing, he complained, "Dreiby, you did not warn me that the weather gets so shitty around here."

"Oh, it will get worse than this," Dreibrand said.

"Then, I am definitely only spending my summers in your wonderful kingdom," Atarek declared.

5. Mad Heights of Magic

Protect Sandin Promentro from those monsters who live as Gods – prayer note from Haley Triesto to the Goddess Simosha burnt at a temple offering.

 

Shan belonged to his enemies now. With his spirit blistering in the snapping flames of his revenge, he edited his followers from his perception and dipped into the nether regions of his power. Tempet and Alloi would pay for smearing his renaissance with their filth of violence.

In his last moments of moral awareness, Shan hated them most for making him do it. Onja, I shall make you proud today, he thought with hopeless acceptance of his degradation.

The Atrophane army closed on him. The lifeforces in the front ranks marched into the quicksand of his mind. His magic sucked in the physical existence of each soldier, exposing and then seizing each soul. Those men who carried wardings were more difficult for Shan to access, but with some extra effort, he soon felt their blood moving through their veins. Their beating hearts blended with the drums.

Tempet and Alloi sensed Shan’s magic spreading among the soldiers like water filling a rice paddy. When they recognized the spell consuming their human minions, a tremor of fear finally rattled the confidence of the tabre twins. They remembered a time long ago when the King and Queen of Jingten had ordered their soldiers back and stood alone on the plains to meet the Nufalese army.

"Tempet," Alloi communicated to her brother urgently.

"He is soft and incapable. I will kill him now," Tempet assured her and loped ahead of his army. The pain in his arm had become a part of him, but Tempet knew how to cope with pain. He turned it to anger, a substance that could fuel him through any challenge. With long strides, he approached the rys King. Tempet ceased to be aware of the centuries that he had spent in stone. He was back in his own time, except with a second chance to win the war.

Tempet stopped in front of the advancing army. He raised his bitaran and taunted Shan. "Are you ready for my justice? Your Queen died easily. Prepare to join her." Tempet laughed, insane with the anticipation of taking down Jingten’s remaining monarch.

Shan ignored the words. His powerful perception was beyond the meaningless noises. He was choosing victims in the nearest ranks of men.

Allowing himself to take pleasure in the supremacy of his power, Shan cast his spell. Like ripe corn falling before the swift scythe, Atrophane soldiers lurched in agony and tumbled in death. Shan had wanted a world where they could live in peace and prosperity, and they had demanded an alternative.

Killing the soldiers was only the first step. Shan snared their souls like a bear plucking fish from a stream and tossing them onto the bank. Shan prevented them from taking their natural journey to the next world. He yoked the displaced lifeforces with his ugly spell and bound their incorporeal existence to his fierce will. Shan claimed two thousand dead as his servants and directed their fury at Tempet.

Appalled by Shan’s enslavement of souls, Alloi tried to set them free, but the net of his will was impossible for her to immediately untangle. Her mind shook as a fly in a spider web shakes. She resumed her battle magic against his body, hoping to kill him.

Shan fortified his enchanted armor with a shield spell. His magic had never come so effortlessly and the burning pain of Alloi’s attack faded into pleasure. Shan continued to control his new army that was beyond defeat. No force could harm the fresh crop of wraiths. Only warding crystals could repel their ripping freezing grip of death that reached out to tear the living. Tempet whirled within the thickening circle of wraiths that were driven to assault him.

The surviving Atrophane soldiers faltered in terror as they saw the ghostly images of their comrades floating above the toppled bodies. Red eyes burned in the sockets of warped colorless faces. Pitiless magic forced their eyes to look upon the living world that they were no longer meant to see. They served Shan in torment, and their suffering fueled Shan’s power. He believed that they deserved this punishment for following the commands of his enemies.

Tempet wallowed among the wraiths, swiping at them even though they could not touch him because of his wardings. Shan locked his mind onto Tempet’s body. The threat from the rys King made Tempet cease his mindless hacking. He regained his bitter courage and ran at Shan through the throng of wraiths.

Shan’s power gushed through his system like lava pushed up from the raging furnace of the world. He had taken the path that led to the ultimate level of rys magic, and he had freed his mind of any reservation before doing so. He welcomed the dark expansion of his magic and forgot all the good places in his heart. The obedient wraiths that swirled around him encouraged him to drink deeply of the magic elixir that he had always forbidden himself to even sip. Shan was the master of living things. And twice their master in death.

Constant attack spells from Alloi exploded around Shan. The ground around his feet turned to smoking craters but he was untouched by her assault.

No warding, no armor, no shield spell could stop Shan now. His accelerated mind met Tempet’s advance with a firm spell that would not fail. He transmitted so much power in that instant that all of his senses briefly went blank.

Tempet halted abruptly. He recognized the stiffening of his body as stone suddenly encased him. Locked inside the magically formed rock, no sound of his fury could escape. But Tempet knew this spell well, and he immediately began to work his own magic to undo it.

Shan had expected Tempet to react in such a way, and he used the efforts of the tabre against him. Building upon Tempet’s magic that was about to dissolve the stone, Shan multiplied the force many times. The hard statue form that held Tempet exploded. Chunks landed at random, blood dripping from their hard edges. The handle of the bitaran stuck out of one piece of stone that still encased the bludgeon.

Tempet was gone. Broken into many pieces.

Shan howled with triumph as his senses returned from a plane of pure energy. He saw the world again, but it was drastically altered. Silver souls moaned inside cold white auras. Even the subdued colors of the frosted prairie were lost beneath an undulating blackness that snapped with blue sparks.

******

The Nufalese and rys soldiers occupied a wide hill that swelled from the grassland like a great hump back. The pelting chill of the night had sapped the warriors of any bodily warmth. Glowering storm clouds rationed the daylight, and freezing rain drizzled. The rys bore the weather better, but their hardiness did not lessen their depression as their soft boots cracked through the thin frozen layer of soil and squished in the mud underneath.

Dreibrand and Atarek joined Tytido, who waited for them on the slope that overlooked Shan’s position. They dismounted and prepared to watch Shan oppose the Atrophane. Leaving Shan alone made Dreibrand uncomfortable. The rys King looked small upon the vast landscape.

In the bleary excuse for day, Atarek saw the dark mass on the sodden plains that marked the Atrophane force. The tap and thud of their relentless war drums grumbled across the land. They advanced rapidly, seemingly unaffected by the long night of fighting.

Without speaking, the men watched the army press closer to Shan. Dreibrand spotted Tempet advancing wildly through the ranks, but Shan stood firm, unimpressed by the onslaught of his enemy. Dreibrand expected to witness the eruption of another duel between the mighty rys males, but instead a visible explosion of magic radiated from Shan and chaos blossomed on the battlefield. The sheer scale of the magic, with its abnormal brightness, astounded Dreibrand, who gaped at the horrific tumble of dying soldiers. Overcoming his awe, he remembered his spyglass and yanked it out to take a better look.

"What do you see?" Atarek asked urgently, jerking himself loose from his stunned silence.

"He got him!" Dreibrand exclaimed and lowered the spyglass from his eye.

"Tempet?" Atarek asked anxiously.

"Yes. I saw him fly into pieces," Dreibrand said, impressed by the thoroughness of Tempet’s death.

Tytido sighed with relief. "Finally something is going our way," he said.

Although Dreibrand shared the sentiment, watching so many Atrophane soldiers die had been difficult. He knew they were just men doing their duty, as any of his warriors would do.

Dreibrand lifted the spyglass again. With Tempet gone, Dreibrand expected to return to the battle soon and be in position to receive the Atrophane surrender that Shan would demand.

The drizzling rain spotted the lens, and Dreibrand sought something to wipe it with. His studded leather gauntlets and armored jacket offered nothing suitable, and he had to pull an unused bandage out of a saddlebag.

After wiping the precise lens, he observed the battle again. His focus had been on Tempet before, but Dreibrand now scanned the long piles of dead soldiers. Their losses had indeed been heavy, even by Shan’s standards, but the actions of the living soldiers disturbed Dreibrand the most. They were recoiling in fear. No, it was terror. They slashed the air with their weapons and scrambled in retreat.

Scanning the scene, Dreibrand saw several soldiers flail about and then fall to the ground in apparent agony. "What is Shan doing?" he wondered aloud.

"Something’s wrong," Tytido declared, even without the benefit of a spyglass. "Dreibrand, what is happening?"

Dreibrand had seen such pure terror before. "Oh, Gods!" he cried and tore the spyglass from his eye. A cold sweat broke out over his already damp body, and he shuddered.

"What?" Atarek demanded. He squinted at the distant scene, trying to see what distressed his companions.

"He could not have," Tytido insisted. In past battles, Shan had claimed many lives, but he had never seized a soul.

"He has," Dreibrand whispered. He could watch people die, even Atrophane, if that was what was needed to further his goals and protect his interests. He had in the past watched the innocent die with the guilty, and been able to accept it. But trapping a soul, especially the soul of soldier, and twisting its power against his comrades was horribly wrong.

Dreibrand asked Atarek if he recalled the story of the Deamedron that he had been told since coming to the Wilderness.

Atarek’s face twitched with distaste and he nodded. He looked again at the crumbling lines of Atrophane troops and witnessed the terror that he had only imagined before. The fleeing men began to slow, run in circles, and then form clusters. From experience, Dreibrand knew that those who possessed no enchanted protection were clinging to anyone with a warding crystal.

Becalmed by his grim sense of purpose, Dreibrand said, "I must put a stop this."

When Atarek demanded how, Dreibrand did not explain. With the supreme ease of a superb leader under pressure, Dreibrand told Atarek and Tytido to gather the other warriors but not to advance until he signaled for them.

"I am going with you," Atarek declared and stepped between Dreibrand and his horse.

"Stay back," Dreibrand hissed, showing his strain now.

"I listened to the story. My warding crystal will protect me from those things," Atarek argued.

"Not from Shan," Dreibrand snapped. "Who knows what madness afflicts him. He might not pause to recognize you, and then he could turn you into a slave spirit."

"And what says he will recognize you?" Atarek countered. Dreibrand tried to move around his brother and grab Astar’s reins, but Atarek blocked him again. The brothers tensed as if on the verge of wrestling.

"Shan will recognize me," Dreibrand shouted and shoved Atarek aside. Dreibrand vaulted into the saddle. "Tytido, make him understand. I have to go."

"Dreibrand, but what can you do?" Tytido asked, requiring that his friend reveal his plans.

"I will intervene," Dreibrand said, wishing that he could actually answer the question. Even without knowing what he would do, he was certain that he must help men that were suffering a terrible fate that only got worse with each passing second.

Atarek seized the bridle of the colt and wedged his shoulder beneath the animal’s arching neck. Astar balked but Atarek held the colt’s head in place with his strength.

"Dreibrand, is this not what we want? You said Shan would give us victory. That his power would make the Empire accept our terms. Why do you go now to stop him?" Atarek demanded.

Dreibrand looked at his brother, who had embraced his ambitious goals. For the first time, they were united by the same purpose, and it was Dreibrand’s resolve that seemed to be breaking.

"Shan has gone too far," Dreibrand said. "I must go stop him. I must."

Moved by his brother’s pleading panic, Atarek stepped aside. "If you say you must, then you will," Atarek whispered but Dreibrand was already gone. Despite recent hard use, Astar bolted down the hill, conveying his master with the required speed.

******

Sandin watched his men turn and run. He knew the normally brave and disciplined troops would not obey him if he ordered them to stop. Sandin had seen the original Deamedron and had watched many of his men die painfully on that day, hacked and twisted by the insane shadows of dead soldiers.

He looked at Alloi, seeking her assistance, but she had not moved since the destruction of her twin brother. Unblinking, she seemed frozen in the moment that had claimed Tempet’s tenacious life. Perhaps Shan’s mighty display had crushed her desire for conquest, but Sandin could not stop now. Unlike that day when the Deamedron had decimated his men, Sandin possessed his enchanted bracelet, and the wraiths could not touch him. He decided to face King Shan himself. If he actually slew the rys leader, then his fame and power would never fade. Never.

Drawing his sword, he commanded Recey to blow a battle charge upon his horn. The squire attempted to comply, but fear made his mouth as dusty as a mausoleum.

Sandin advanced on the seething wall of wraiths that harvested fleeing soldiers. He had to spur his horse to make the steed continue. He was close enough now to see the wispy limbs tearing at living flesh, pulling men to the ground and ripping their lives away. Sandin refused to turn back.

His determination, however, was not enough to reach Shan. As the wraiths overran the soldiers, the living men naturally found the safety zone created by Sandin’s warding crystal, and they crowded around his horse. Thwarted by a clinging panicking throng, Sandin ordered them out of his way, but they could not obey when it meant instant death.

Sandin looked around in despair. The officers and soldiers who were lucky enough to have warding crystals were being mobbed by desperate men as well. His whole army had been reduced to mewling clots of men penned on all sides by the threat of painful death.

Above the rising din, Sandin screamed his loathing for the rys. In his rage to reach Shan, he was tempted to start cutting his way through his own mindless men. He waved his blade over their heads and commanded them to move.

Cringing beneath his fury, they begged their lord to help them get away.

"Cowards!" Sandin snarled. "Advance with me."

Although those soldiers who could hear the Darhet tried to obey, they could make no progress against the mass of men pressing against them in their need to stay within the range of Sandin’s warding.

Men started calling to Alloi to help them. Even with Tempet gone, they still had faith in her power. They could see her, holding back wraiths with a glowing shield spell. She stared at the madness around her with wide disbelieving eyes. She had left this horror behind in her first life and she could not bear to look upon it again.

I should have died in my own time, she lamented from the depths of regret. Vengeance had seemed a worthy goal twenty-two centuries ago, but it had only driven more soldiers to their deaths and their souls into the clutches of the rys.

******

Shan felt the warded rider approaching him from behind and turned his blazing eye toward the impudent intruder. Shan’s perception wrapped the flesh of the man and began to seep through the exceptionally heavy warding. Focusing on the internal essence of the human, Shan prepared to pluck the delicious fruit of the man’s soul.

"Shan! Shan!"

The rys King spun completely around, startled that he had not recognized Dreibrand.

"Shan! Stop!" Dreibrand yelled. He pulled his sweating horse to a stop and beheld the flickering masses of wraiths that tormented clumps of men. Sickened by the awful scene, he jumped to the ground and staggered toward Shan.

Breathing hard, he yelled, "Shan, how could you do THIS?"

"I had every right," Shan said and he pushed his wraiths hard with his mind, forcing them to conduct their wretched tasks at a faster rate. A corresponding increase in screams came from the battlefield.

"No, no," Dreibrand protested and stepped closer until Shan raised his flashing shield.

"I told you to stay away," Shan said. The rys’s lips trembled. Whether it was from fatigue, madness, or the immense power conducted by his body, Dreibrand could not tell.

"Shan, enough. Let them go," Dreibrand said urgently. He extended a hand toward the hellish scene as if the feeble gesture could stop the tragedy. Shan abhorred violence and suffering, and Dreibrand believed that the rys would stop if he simply asked.

All that remained of Shan’s morality, however, was a bleeding stump where he had amputated the good things in his nature.

"Let them go?" the rys King sneered with contempt. "They would kill us, or have you forgotten?"

Dreibrand shook his head. "My King, you can have your victory without this. It is wrong. You have made them Deamedron. How, Shan? How could you?"

"Shut up!" Shan snapped. The absolute shock for his actions that Dreibrand displayed reminded him of his ideals that had once been so precious. Those kind impulses had made him better than Onja, but not anymore.

Shan seized Dreibrand in a spell that gripped him like an iron maiden. Unable to move, Dreibrand cried out in fear and pain.

Shan harangued his immobile subject, who was forced to watch the continuing torment of human souls and human lives. "They made me do it. They chose to ignore my power. I am the King of the Rysamand. There is none higher. All of them knew better than to tempt my anger by tampering with my domain."

Dreibrand struggled to reply. Even clenched by pain, he argued, "You torture soldiers who only follow orders. The invasion was not their decision."

"They wanted to sack Jingten. Every one of them," Shan said. His eyes were merciless pits of hot fire flaming as bright as the sun but blue as the deepest glacial crevasse.

Squinting in the blaze of Shan’s power, Dreibrand pleaded, "Shan, forgive them."

"No!" Shan shot back instantly. Absolution did not compare to the exquisite pleasure that domination delivered. Shan took a deep breath, filling his mind with the addicting power that he had held at bay for centuries.

Seeing Shan this way broke Dreibrand’s heart. The face of his beloved leader and friend had been twisted into a visage of remorseless cruelty. Only Dreibrand’s naturally defiant will overcame his desolation and allowed him to make another attempt to retrieve Shan from his insanity. Like a man diving into raging cold waters to save a person sinking to the bottom, Dreibrand grasped at the remnants of his loyalty for Shan.

"You could free the souls and those left living would surrender right now," Dreibrand proposed.

"I want their destruction," Shan said.

"Is this not enough?" Dreibrand said. "Let them go. No one will forget this display. You have defended Jingten."

"Jingten is to be more than defended," Shan said as if quoting from some mysterious scripture.

"Then you are no better than Onja," Dreibrand said. His love and loyalty for Shan shattered like an ancient and priceless vase falling on cold hard stone.

The cracking of Dreibrand’s love rattled Shan, but the rys could no longer react with any form of kindness. He could not think to mend the damage as Dreibrand’s devotion whirled away on the hot blasting wind of his evil. Angered by the loss, Shan intensified his spell. The pain bit Dreibrand deeply, and he cried out.

"Beg for your life," Shan commanded. He wanted confirmation that Dreibrand was still his loyal subject. Surely, the man would have to obey him when inflicted with such pain.

Mastering his agony, Dreibrand panted, "Ahhh, I beg for them. Release their souls."

"No. Ask me for your life. I will grant it," Shan said.

"Shan!" Dreibrand screamed, remembering his pure loyalty for Shan with awful longing. This monster was intolerable. "Shan, you are hurting me."

"I said I would let you live if you would only ask," Shan said with exasperation. Why did the pitiful human not respond? The pain had to be enough to make him do anything.

Dreibrand continued to scream, but the song of his anguish puzzled Shan further instead of rewarding his madness. The intense pleasure of dominating others faltered when he observed his human friend mauled by spells that attacked nerves with serrated malice. The memory of Dreibrand defending him in times of need stirred, and Shan abruptly ended the torture.

Dreibrand fell to the ground. He twitched as the pain slowly released his body, and he retched a small amount.

Shan stared with confusion at the man on his hands and knees. Shan wished that Dreibrand had not interfered with the punishment of Jingten’s enemies. From the highest to the lowest, Shan intended to punish them all. If the rys were to live in peace, then the very concept of invading Jingten had to be eradicated from the world.

"Go wait with your warriors, Dreibrand," Shan commanded, expecting the man to be thoroughly chastised.

"I came to save the souls of these men," Dreibrand persisted. He braced for the next stroke of magic that would bash his nerves. A string of spittle fell from his lower lip as he waited for the pain to resume. When nothing happened, he looked up at Shan.

The rys was surveying the accelerating demise of the Atrophane war host. The sounds of dying were made more terrible by the absence of clashing weapons.

"Give them a chance to surrender," Dreibrand suggested and lifted a pleading hand toward the rys King. In that pose, his armor and weapons became the encumbrances of a supplicant and ceased to be the trappings of a warrior.

"They are surrendering," Shan commented with satirical delight. He thrust against a patch of warded soldiers and killed them. Wraiths began to rise and join the assault on the living.

"Nooooo!" Dreibrand shouted.

He scrambled to his feet. Being a hardened fighter, Dreibrand immediately wanted to draw his sword and strike at the rys who had tortured him. It was the logical thing to do and probably the only way to free the demented souls. Yet, he doubted his ability to hit the immensely powerful rys and cause damage. Getting himself killed in a dubious physical assault on Shan would not serve his purpose.

"I will show you mercy!" Dreibrand declared. He ran toward a group of Atrophane soldiers. Wraiths pecked at the fringes of the group. In their panic, some soldiers pushed the desperate away, fearing that they would be pulled out of the warding. Other men of better caliber clutched their comrades, trying to help them. Those who possessed wardings tried to adjust their positions and protect their men, but the strategy was hopeless. Moving to include one man meant another was exposed to the wraiths.

Three such unfortunates had just begun to shriek as cold death penetrated their flesh when Dreibrand reached them and the wide sphere of his warding pushed the wraiths away. Soldiers rushed into the new zone of safety before even realizing that one of their enemies had come to provide it.

Dreibrand held his sword above his head, and more men flocked to the glowing warding crystal. "I will help you! I will help you!" he yelled. He kept the blade out as much to advertise his warding as to defend his possession of it.

Wounded painfully by their contact with the wraiths, the soldiers who had been immediately saved by Dreibrand staggered to his side with gratitude.

Turning so that the others could see and hear him, Dreibrand announced, "I am Lord Dreibrand of the House of Veta. I am the human sovereign of Nufal and I have come to protect you from Shan. Your leader has led you astray. A campaign against the rys should not have been conceived."

Half of the soldiers were too overcome by fear to even register his words, and those who heard him were not critical of his motives. Like people jumping from burning buildings, they accepted the presence of the enemy leader if it meant life.

Dreibrand’s action, however, incensed Shan.

So, you turn against me now. Your claims about not having any loyalty to Atrophane were mere stories for a King’s amusement, Shan fumed in his deranged state.

He stalked toward Dreibrand. Wraiths swirled away from Shan’s warding like mist parting before the prow of a boat. The spirit slaves gathered in the wake of their grim creator. Ghostly blue flames danced between their translucent bodies.

The courage that thrived at the core of Dreibrand’s personality quaked with an unfamiliar uncertainty. He had faced many great enemies, even Onja herself, but Dreibrand feared to oppose Shan.

Even drenched in the knowledge that Shan was unstoppable, Dreibrand stood fast in the defense of the Atrophane soldiers. Acting to protect the members of the very military that he had deserted redeemed him from much of the guilt that he carried for that choice.

I had not imagined that I would meet my end this way, he thought. Each swift step that Shan took toward him accelerated his crisis. Seizing upon the warrior philosophy of his education, Dreibrand sternly repeated the thought. I will be victorious. I will be victorious.

Even so, he lowered his sword. He would not initiate combat with Shan. He hoped that the sword itself might remind Shan of their bond.

As Dreibrand beheld the horrible madness that distorted Shan’s face, he understood that he needed to reunite Shan with his compassion for humanity. The Shan that Dreibrand revered had only killed his enemies until a surrender could be achieved.

Whirling to face the Atrophane soldiers, Dreibrand shouted, "Surrender to him! You must. For your lives. Lay down your weapons and kneel to him! Now!"

Perhaps because Dreibrand was an Atrophane, they listened to him, and with the mighty rys King bearing down on them, surrender seemed the wisest option. Fighting the rys King was futile, and men began to choose the shame of dropping their weapons.

Dreibrand faced Shan again and followed his own advice. Thrusting the point of his sword into the ground, Dreibrand kneeled behind the weapon.

Shan stopped in front of him. Gruesome specters hung in the background like an underpaid claque.

Although shaking, Dreibrand still managed to speak clearly. He used the Atrophane language so the soldiers would know that he spoke for their benefit. "My Lord, my King. I ask for mercy for these men. See their surrender."

Shan scanned the group and a few more men set down their arms. "You can die with them!" Shan hissed in his native tongue.

Although lacking fluency in the rys language, Dreibrand grimaced as he surmised the malicious meaning.

"Shan!" he cried. "It is I, Dreibrand. Have I not always been obedient to your will? Have I ever wavered in my loyalty? Be merciful. Be the Shan I love!"

Even held hostage by his worst instincts, Shan was beckoned by Dreibrand’s lingering desire to love him. The puzzling image of Dreibrand begging on his knees stalled Shan’s hemorrhaging hatred. Avoiding the pleading eyes of his abused friend, Shan looked at the warding crystal mounted on the handle of Dreibrand’s sword. Their blood had anointed the weapon. The enchantment within the sword had been made stronger by Dreibrand’s devotion, and their deep alliance had brought them both much success.

The magic locked inside the sword touched Shan’s senses. His friendship with Dreibrand had helped define the power in the crystal, and Shan had just cast away that friendship like a gnawed bone. The act had diminished him, and the mad heights of magic that he had achieved by embracing his rage could not replace what was lost.

Abashed, the rys King shuddered with the moral realization of what he had done. He clasped the wounded side of his face, feeling the pain again. He staggered back as if about to flee the scene of an accidental crime.

When he stopped, he leaned over, sickened by his corrupted state of existence. Only his true enemies were deserving of his madness. Tempet was dead, but Alloi remained, and it was time to stop tormenting her human servants. They were not responsible for destroying his dreams for the future.

Shan did not expect Dreibrand to ever forgive him. The rys doubted that he would ever forgive himself for this day that had led him astray from his dearest beliefs. Although the very sense of condemnation made it easier to sin, Shan decided that he would undo what he had done.

The rys King released his minions. He saw the spirits fade and rise through the portal to the next world. Shan hoped that passing between worlds would cleanse the souls of the memory of what he had done to them. He wondered if Quylan looked down on him, but he did not know. It was strange that he could not know.

The survivors watched the hellish spirits disappear, and those Atrophane who had surrendered with Dreibrand were grateful for their bargain.

Coming down from his evil mania, Shan focused on Alloi. Perhaps he had chosen to punish her servants so severely just to avoid striking at her. During the long battle, he had sent others to harass her, and he had thwarted her attacks, but Shan had yet to truly attempt killing her. He had hardly allowed himself to look upon her because he feared that her beauty would entrance him and make him weak. It had before.

My beautiful lost rys of the Tabren, I must put you down, Shan thought.

With miserable death strewn across the land, Shan decided that he had been mistaken to allow this joining of armies. I should have been braver, he lamented.

He pushed hard with his mind, spreading his magic insistently into both armies, but without causing damage. He did not crush living organs or rip souls from men still convulsing in the final moments of death. Shan only made them stop—stop everything. Overwhelmed with drowsiness, men began to stumble into the cold mud. Riders slipped from tired horses. Eventually, even the rys soldiers passed out.

The underlying moan of controlled spirits was gone. The screams and shouts of frightened fighters were silenced, and only the light drizzle pattered on the land. Total death appeared to have claimed the battlefield. Unmoving bodies draped each other, but the living remained among the dead.

6. The Quinsanomar

The will to fight drained from Alloi’s heart as her army crumbled around her.  Each man that dropped represented another portion of her failure. She wished that Tempet and she had stayed locked in stone rather than cause this disaster. The potential of her life had already been wasted in warfare, and she was no more capable of defeating Jingten than any of the tabre had been in the last age. Even with Onja and Dacian gone to dust, the new King of Jingten possessed an equivalent power.

A tremendous fear seized Alloi. With Tempet dead, she was utterly alone. The absence of her beloved twin was already a hopeless agony.

All was ruin.

Alloi fled. She wanted to choose the place of her death, and the Quinsanomar beckoned. It was the place where her civilization had perished. It was the place where her parents had died and Alloi rushed to join them. She should have died with them centuries ago.

Shan watched her run westward, and concern for Jingten fired the glowing coals of his anger again. Assuming an intransigent hatred compelled her to attack Jingten on her own, he chased her. They would end their conflict alone on the plains. It would be better that way. Shan preferred that his rys not see him kill another of their kind. Shan gave scant thought to the Atrophane or his followers. He expected that Dreibrand would handle the situation to his own satisfaction.

Determined to reach her burial ground, Alloi stayed ahead of Shan. Choosing the spot where her bones would sink into the land was all that remained of victory for her. She choked on the irony that she had spent centuries in hibernation only to return to the place where she had narrowly escaped death.

As she ran toward the cloud-veiled foothills in the west, Alloi did not turn to view her homeland a final time. Unbearable memories of a lost home were all that the Tabren Mountains could offer her.

As nightfall came, the wind picked up, coming from the north with ice pick vindictiveness. In her increasing haze of grief and fatigue, she recalled the old Nufalese adage snow in the mountains, wind on the plains.

Sensing Shan’s violent will coming closer, Alloi ran faster, but she tripped and flopped hard onto the unyielding land. Dirt covered the blood caked on her clothes. Pushing herself up, she discerned black shapes in the distance. For a delirious moment, she thought they were tabre, waiting for her to join them.

Despite the bliss of the fantasy, it withered quickly. Alloi realized that she had reached her destination. A forest of broken blocks interrupted the plains and defined the Quinsanomar.

Alloi sobbed between gasping breaths and cried out to her parents pitifully. She longed for their comforting love. Although the old battlefield no longer shackled the souls of her parents, she felt closer to them in this sad place. 

When she ran among the stones, she remembered the tabre and human fighters who had stood in the spots that the stones occupied. With deeper horror, Alloi remembered how her power had been great enough to deflect the powerful spell that had seized most of the Nufalese army, but her power had not allowed her to protect everyone close to her. Only a few had survived at her side to witness the oncoming nightmare of defeat.

With her executioner approaching, Alloi’s instincts stirred one more time and she chose to delay her end. She hid behind a tumbled monolith. Alloi loathed taking shelter under the stone formed by rys magic, but she needed a few moments before facing her hunter.

Her pounding heart confused her. She could not understand how her body could pulse with so much life when sorrow and defeat were her only sustenance. She silenced her gasping lungs when Shan entered the area. His potent lifeforce flowed over her senses, like smoke filling a room, and she heard his breathing between gusts of wind.

Suddenly, Alloi thought of Tempet and knew that he would want her to strike. She had an obligation to avenge her twin, but even that seemed to have little value. They had locked themselves in the hard limbo of the Tabren Mountains for twenty-two centuries in order to avenge their whole race, but no amount of violence would change the fact that only cracked stones marked the existence of the tabre.

Alloi looked deep into her past. She remembered being a tabling with Tempet. They were playing in the forest. She had used her fledgling magic to coax a rabbit into her arms outside Kwellstan. Alloi remembered Tempet’s delight as he had petted the soft fur. She wished that Tempet had been granted a different life instead of an existence consumed by hate.

Through her teary eyes, Alloi gazed at the sky. Heavy clouds blackened the heavens and she had no star to guide her.

 "There is nothing I can do," she whispered, apologizing to her dead twin and her entire race.

Her advanced perception allowed her to track Shan as he came closer. He made no attempt to cloak his body. The Shield of Dacian on his arm burned against her senses. Alloi knew that the enchantment craved to drink up her power, and its magical hunger was growing. Alloi imagined that he would subdue her with the shield and then make his killing blow. Ready for her fate, she decided to spare him the trouble of flushing her out.

Shan stopped when Alloi emerged from her hiding spot. Her wretched grief slapped his mind. In a flash of anger, he believed that she deserved it. Tempet and she had reduced him to a violent beast, a killer who relished twisting the life from his victims. She should suffer for dragging him into the clutches of his darkest temptations.

Even as Shan recognized how he had succumbed to the allure of his powers, he accepted that the genocide had to be completed. One survivor from ancient Nufal remained, and she had to join the others who were interred in history.

He drew his sword. Blue fire glowed on the edges of the blade. The ancient rys enchantment was tuned to the presence of its enemy. Shan prepared to strike the final blow of the war. She would die for the rys she had killed. She would die for obliterating the place in his heart that could envision an enlightened world. 

Like a devotee of suicide cult, Alloi came forward and grabbed the blade with her hand. The blue fire jumped up her forearm, but she did not cry out as the fine edge cut her hand and the blood sizzled.

Shan tensed and lifted his shield. A defensive spell immediately flared around him, pushing back the night. The blue glow revealed her physical form, and the profound desolation on her beautiful face stalled Shan’s execution.

Alloi dropped to her knees and pulled the swordpoint toward her heart.

The submission startled Shan, but offered him a chance to extract an explanation.

"Why?" he hissed.

Alloi did not meet his eyes. She spoke dully, as a broken-spirited prisoner would do. "To hurt you as you hurt us."

"But it was not us," Shan said with exasperation. "You knew that thousands of years had passed."

"That did not excuse rys crimes," she answered. Although she still believed that her actions had been justified, her emotions were too exhausted to hate. Only grief remained and she was ready for it to end. She pulled the sword into her flesh. Shan saw blood squirt around the point and soak into her tattered and scorched robe. He pulled back on his sword, resenting her attempt to steal his final victory.

"Then fight me if your hate is so permanent," Shan commanded. "Too many have died for you to just give up."

Magical white fire flashed in her eyes with the rage of an entire race, and Shan felt its heat. Still, she did not strike.

Shan goaded her again. The destructive mood that had consumed him earlier wanted to maintain its new preeminence in his mind.

"I killed Tempet. I killed your mighty mate. Come, take your last chance at revenge if it means so much to you," he said.

"He was my brother, my twin brother," Alloi corrected sadly. His death seemed to have reduced her soul by half.

"More reason to fight me," Shan said. "Your hate made you refuse my peace offer. Your hate brought more death. Your hate killed my Queen, Why stop now? Fight!"

"My hate was my duty," she said. "But I cannot fulfill my duty. I feel your power, and I cannot even avenge my brother let alone my whole race. End my misery."

Shan yanked away his weapon. That day he had killed wantonly. He had killed even as Dreibrand begged mercy for his enemies. And now, Alloi asked him to kill because he was a killer. Suddenly, Shan wanted to redeem some scrap of his kind nature. Although the heat of battle had roused him to vile action, he could not summon the desire to strike her down if she would not fight him. Perhaps as the King of the rys, he owed the sole survivor of Nufal’s holocaust something better than the swift death that she begged to receive.

But something more than a vague sense of debt compelled him to hesitate. It was Alloi. She was impossible for him to defeat. He had always recognized her spirit as a profound match for his own. When he looked upon her, he imagined them together as a rose with the petals of his soul overlapping the petals of her soul. He ached to join her in a gentle soft world where pink blushed on pure white. He despised that their only interaction had been the crashing of thorny branches.

He put his sword in its scabbard and pointed at her bleeding chest. Alloi gasped when his magic touched her body and healed the wound. Then, his magic enveloped her, caressed her with apologetic sympathy, and healed all of her wounds.

"I cannot hurt you," Shan admitted. "I could never hurt you." He staggered away and fell against a tilting monolith. The sick delight induced during his killing rage slipped away and deluged him with guilt. Upon the cold defiled land of the Quinsanomar, he contemplated how the ugliest episodes of rys history had claimed him and given him a role in a performance that no one wanted to watch.

Alloi stared at him for a long time. His mercy confused her. This did not seem to be the same creature who had obliterated her brother. Not even Tempet’s eternal hatred for the rys had been enough to protect him from Shan’s final fury. Alloi would not have guessed that a rys driven to such violent use of power would ever return to a compassionate state.

"Beautiful Alloi, make peace with me," she remembered him saying. The sound of his earnest voice had lingered in her ears since that night. Shan had always been reluctant to hurt her. Twice he had proposed peace, and Alloi accepted for the first time that he had been sincere.

His mercy shamed her.

Alloi chose not strike at Shan even if he appeared vulnerable with his back to her. She empathized with his disgust for the whole war. Pursuing his destruction now would do nothing to honor her brother or any of the lost tabre. As Shan had insisted, he was not guilty of destroying Nufal.

In hindsight, Alloi wished that she had done more to steer her brother’s mind away from their pointless revenge. They could have reclaimed their kingdom and joined the settlers in the revival of Nufalese civilization. That would have served the memory of the tabre far better. 

It was only one more thing to regret.

"I have no desire to live," Alloi announced. "I forgive you in advance if you will send me from this world, King Shan."

Her meek absolution called to the shriveled places in Shan’s heart. He did not even suspect her of trying to trick him.

"Alloi," he whispered and looked at her. Speaking her name made him feel better. "Already one rys Queen has been lost today."

"Tabre. I am a tabre," she said although surprisingly unperturbed by his mistake. Perhaps that he had equated her to a queen prompted her generosity.

Shan apologized and said the term a couple times. Finally, he commented, "But you are not so different than me. We are the same."

"That fact did not prevent our division long ago," Alloi recalled.

"The Great War," Shan whispered. His curiosity for the secrets of history surged.

"You know very little about it," Alloi surmised.

"I know enough to understand how much you must hate the rys of Jingten," Shan said. He extended a hand. "Let us talk, Alloi. Perhaps I can convince you to continue your life."

Alloi recoiled from him. It was an automatic response to a rys hand reaching out to her. The rhetoric of the Great War had demanded complete revulsion for the enemy.

Shan boldly stepped close and took her by the hand. Alloi cried out and an instinctive snap of magic slapped at Shan. He disregarded the sting. The joy of touching her, finally showing her a trace of tenderness instead of rough combat, discounted her minor attack.

"Let one good thing emerge from this wreckage, Alloi," he advised. "Let yourself survive."

"Why do you risk such mercy with me?" Alloi asked. Rys, by definition, eradicated all threats to their supremacy.

"Because I can see that we share a problem. We were born with kind hearts but have led violent lives," Shan explained. "Perhaps, we could find some comfort in our shared sorrows."

She trembled in his grip, and Shan understood how difficult it must be for her to trust him. The first Deamedron had existed for most of Shan’s life, and he had intimately experienced the undying hate that the tabre possessed for the rys. Even so, he had pitied them and been relieved by their release.

"It was I who let the souls of the tabre free. It was I who undid the spell that Onja used to enslave the Nufalese," Shan said.

"You lie," Alloi snarled automatically. No rys would have bothered to end the torment of her lost race. Alloi assumed that Onja’s death had released the spirits.

"If I can prove my statement, will you spend some time talking with me?" Shan said.

"What proof do you have?" she said skeptically.

"My memories," Shan said. He raised her hand to his temple. "I will trust you if you will trust me."

Her sensitive mind immediately felt his mental defenses dropping. The invitation to communicate so intimately beckoned to her loneliness. Her curiosity tempted her as well. Reading the mind of a rys or tabre was a far more complicated task than perusing or controlling the mind of a human or other lesser animal. Alloi cautiously peeked inside the cracked door of his thoughts.

Shan had the specific memory waiting for her. Alloi only needed to look at it.

When Alloi connected to his memory, she stiffened. After breaking Onja’s spell on the Deamedron, Shan had guided the souls toward the next world. The process had nearly killed him because the souls had pressed against him with pure malice. As the images rushed into Alloi’s head, she began to recognize some of the souls that had touched Shan so briefly. She cried out and hurled herself to the ground.

Concerned, Shan bent over her.  Alloi refused to be soothed by his gentle touch. As a skilled mindreader, she knew that the images she had viewed in his mind were real.  

"You did set them free," she said.

"I admit that I had to in order to rid the world of the threat, but I wanted to end their torture as well," Shan explained. "I never dreamed of meeting a living Nufalese with whom I could begin to make amends for our terrible past. I accept that the rys wronged you," Shan said.

"You guided my parents to the next world?" Alloi asked.

"Yes, if they were Deamedron," Shan said.

She did not speak for some time. The wind moaned between the monoliths, and she listened to the sad song upon the land. He had set free the enslaved souls of Nufal instead of trying to seize control of them, and Alloi respected his choice very much.

Finally, she whispered, "The tabre wronged the rys as well."

"Nothing could have deserved what Onja did to you," Shan insisted although painfully interested to know her firsthand version of history. Onja had cleaned the record after her war, and future generations had known very little, except not to enter the Wilderness.

Alloi gripped his hand and felt the rich deep pulse of his existence. The contact reached into the desolate pit of her loneliness, where her vulnerable spirit cowered. She could seek companionship with death or with this rys, whose offer to help carry her burden of grief amazed her.

She also sensed his grief, intense shame in fact, for his actions on the battlefield. Her sensitive mind felt his reluctance toward returning to his subjects. He had fallen from the pedestal of his moral authority. Fallen hard.

His awareness of his wrongdoing appealed to Alloi. She pitied Shan for failing when hard circumstances had tested his good heart. 

Shan knew that she was analyzing the heavy thoughts roiling at the surface of his mind but he was not disturbed by it. So close to Alloi, he felt he had found a refuge from the madness that had recently seized him.

Shan said, "Alloi, you offered to forgive me if I would kill you. Instead, I ask for forgiveness for killing your brother. If I had known then how dear he was to you, I would have found a way to be merciful."

Imagining how Tempet might have been in a different life, Alloi said, "You were merciful. He suffered far more than I."

"Walk with me," Shan whispered tenderly and she followed him away from the ancient battlefield.

7. Days of Freedom

Squalls of freezing rain glazed the silent battlefield. For two hours, the cold taxed the bodies of the fighters before Shan’s spell began to wear off. The rys soldiers awoke first. Their clothes crackled as they sat up and broke the sheens of ice on their bodies.

Under a slate sky that scowled at a windy land, the rys tried to find their King, but, with the best of them killed, none remained who could cast their minds farther than a dozen hasas from the area. Unable to detect Shan and confused by his absence, the rys soldiers waited uneasily.

Taf Ila noticed little and cared for nothing beyond the devastating sight of his dead daughter draped over the back of a horse. Thin ice shrouded her in a glassy layer that crusted on her armor and black hair. Lurching to his feet, Taf Ila went to Quylan and removed one of her gauntlets. Pressing her lifeless digits against his face, he plunged into his sorrow and shut his eyes.

Amid the scattered remains of the Atrophane force, Sandin awoke. His dismay swiftly slapped aside his grogginess. Alloi was gone, and all of his soldiers were strewn over the ground like toy soldiers knocked down by a spoiled child.

Shivering, Sandin automatically hugged himself although pressing his arms against his armor did nothing to warm them. His body that had burned with the endurance spell was cold and depleted. His horse stood nearby. The majestic war steed hung its head, drained of all vigor for battle.

Sandin spotted Recey collapsed between two flagbearers with one of the Atrophaney banners covering half of the faithful squire’s body. Shoving his mind out of its haze, Sandin assessed the area more thoroughly and discovered that even the enemy soldiers were down. He could see their prone bodies sprinkled along the hill where they had retreated. At first, he assumed happily that Alloi had killed them until he saw rys walking along the hill.

Where is Alloi? Sandin worried. He saw no trace of his powerful mistress. An intense desolation threatened him when he accepted that she was missing. With Tempet dead, he needed Alloi to conquer the rys. He gained some hope when he determined that Shan appeared to be missing as well. Perhaps Alloi was fighting Shan to the death on some private chosen ground.

At least those wraiths are gone, Sandin thought with utter relief before his mind blocked out the horrible episode. He did not consider his guilt for driving his soldiers against the King of Jingten.

He went to his squire and determined that the man was not dead. After Recey got up, they began to rouse the others.

My army is still larger. I shall clean up this mess while I await Alloi’s triumphant return, Sandin thought.
In another portion of the dismembered Atrophane army, Dreibrand opened his eyes and experienced the same shock as Sandin when he viewed his surroundings. Bodies stretched away in every direction. The Atrophaney soldiers who had been sheltered by his warding appeared untouched, and Dreibrand hoped that they were still alive. Farther away, torn heaps of dead men littered the ground. They were the unfortunates who had been rent by the frigid fury of the wraiths.

But no wraiths prowled the area, and thinking back, Dreibrand remembered watching their vile vapors dissipate.

Shan released them , he thought, thankful that the horror had ended.

When Dreibrand sat up, his arm stuck to the ground before snapping free. The crunch of ice as the crusted turf released him warned him that he had to be dangerously cold. Deep shivering suddenly started, and he recognized the onset of exposure. When he stood up, the cold constricted his body. He flapped his arms vigorously, and his sluggish body mustered some blood flow.

He plucked his sword out of the ground and sheathed it. Concerned about his brother, Dreibrand took out his spyglass and looked toward the location of his comrades. Still on the hillside where he had left them, he spotted Atarek and Tytido rising stiffly from the ground. Dreibrand also saw that Astar had wandered back to them.

Dreibrand scanned the rest of the area, turning in a circle and studying the groups of bodies. Shan was no where in sight, and Dreibrand could not find Alloi either. Frightened earlier by Shan’s berserk actions, Dreibrand did not entirely regret the rys King’s departure. Although the sentiment felt foreign, Dreibrand’s allegiance to Shan now resembled the ashes of a comfortable home burned by an arsonist.

After Dreibrand concluded that Shan and Alloi were gone, his thoughts turned urgently to Sandin. He pointed the lens in the direction of the Darhet’s last position. Dreibrand was just in time to see the battle flags of the Darhet rise again.

Dreibrand lingered a moment and viewed Sandin as he moved about rousing his men. The sight of his rival briefly mesmerized Dreibrand as he contemplated how to stop the man who would surely order his army to resume fighting.

Dreibrand put away his spyglass and woke up the nearest soldier, who stared at him with confusion but not alarm. He simply did not recognize the Atrophaney warrior who told him that they were safe now.

When Dreibrand moved to the next soldier, the first soldier finally remembered who Dreibrand was. "You are the renegade," he said, shaking with cold and coughing.

"I am the man who stopped the King of Jingten from killing all of you," Dreibrand said. "Now get moving before you freeze."

After Dreibrand roused a few men, he bade them to begin waking more soldiers. They complied, but Dreibrand could tell that they were uncertain about his presence. No one seemed inclined to confront him though.

Hoping to gain more leverage among the dazed Atrophane, Dreibrand inquired about Commander Fanlyre. The first men that he asked did not recognize the name or perhaps they were too upset to think about it. Dreibrand continued through the groggy groups of survivors until he reached infantry who were under Fanlyre’s command. On this bad day, Dreibrand finally heard a scrap of good news. Last that the soldiers knew, Fanlyre had still been alive.  

Dreibrand rushed among the bodies. His aching legs gathered speed reluctantly, but he urgently needed to locate the one man who might listen to him. Dreibrand rolled over a man in armor and a blue officer’s uniform who lay face down next to a horse.

"Cevlead!" Dreibrand cried when he recognized the young earnest face with a short nose and slightly full lips. He shook the man’s shoulders.

The commander’s eyes fluttered open, and in his first instant of consciousness, he raised a hand to his neck and touched the warding crystal tied there.

"You!" Fanlyre cried. He flopped away but found that he was too hobbled by hypothermia to elude his visitor.

"Here, I will help you up," Dreibrand said and offered a hand.

"What happened?" Fanlyre demanded. He looked around with nervous glittering eyes. The cold air revealed his steaming breath in stuttering puffs.

"The wraiths are gone," Dreibrand assured him. "We must talk. There is little time."

Confused, Fanlyre stared at Dreibrand. He had seen the censured lord run between the soldiers and the rys King. Many soldiers had kneeled around Dreibrand, and then…the memories were fuzzy.

"Is the battle over?" Fanlyre said.

"It will be if you make the right decision," Dreibrand replied and grabbed Fanlyre.

After being hauled to his feet, Fanlyre flung off Dreibrand’s hand and stumbled a couple steps backward. "Get away from me!" he yelled. Being seen so close to the enemy would surely damn him in the eyes of the Darhet. Proving his loyalty after returning from Vetanium had been dicey enough.

"Lord Cevlead, I propose a truce," Dreibrand said calmly.

Hugging himself because of the cold, Fanlyre looked around at the rising soldiers and wondered if he was the only one who saw Dreibrand.

Sweeping his arm toward the indifferent soldiers, Dreibrand explained, "I saved many of their lives with my powerful warding, and I saved all of you when I begged Shan to show you mercy."

"Damn lies," Fanlyre hissed. "You—you and Shan plotted this atrocity."

"No!" Dreibrand denied the accusation strongly. He was appalled that Fanlyre could even consider that a connection between him and what Shan had done was possible. With sincere passion, Dreibrand insisted, "I would never condone what Shan did today. Against his command, I came to defend the very soldiers who invaded my land. You know me to be an Atrophane noble, Cevlead. I would never build my power upon the souls of men."

Dreibrand wished that he could convey his revulsion for what had occurred. A man’s fighting spirit was a sacred strength in Atrophaney military culture. It was enough for a man to give his life, not his afterlife.

Fanlyre shuddered on top of his shivering. He pieced together his memories, but his mind hated the wretched events that it now contained. The lifeless moans of spirits as they crushed the lives of screaming soldiers now cursed his memories. He would never be the same man that he had been. Even with the precious warding crystal around his neck, Fanlyre had been so afraid. He was tempted to believe that Dreibrand would not have agreed to the horrors that he had witnessed. They did not match the character of the man who had released him from Vetanium.

Dreibrand hoped that Fanlyre’s silence was the beginnings of cooperation.

"This cold will kill you and your men," Dreibrand said. "We need to attend to our physical needs before the night comes. We need a truce so we can spend our time building fires to warm us."

The suggestion of a fire afflicted Fanlyre with primal longing for warmth, but he glanced around at the wet freezing land and doubted his ability to coax a flame from any fuel that he might find.

Dreibrand guessed Fanlyre’s mind and said, "My rys allies can start fires in any weather. I will ask them to help you."

Exposure to the elements had made the Atrophane vulnerable, and Dreibrand counted on survival instincts to break through the sturdy barricade of their loyalty. Dreibrand recognized the shattered look of men reeling from an assault of wraiths driven to kill by rys magic. The Atrophane were demoralized and Dreibrand wanted to pick up their courage that had fallen from the nest.

"Where is Shan?" Fanlyre demanded suddenly and with obvious fear.

Dreibrand hesitated before deciding that he would have to display some honesty if he were to cultivate trust with Fanlyre. "I do not know," Dreibrand admitted. "Where is Alloi?"

Fanlyre had no idea. Distracted by his freezing hands, he clumsily removed his gauntlets and blew on his fingers. While easing his hands painfully back into his gauntlets, Fanlyre recalled the strong drink that he had tried while in Vetanium. He wished he could have a sip now.

 It crossed Fanlyre’s mind to take Dreibrand prisoner and rally some success around his career, but Fanlyre gained no motivation from his ambition. With the killing of Ambio fresh in his mind, Fanlyre wanted to avoid the attention of the Darhet altogether. Fanlyre still had not sorted out the events that had led to the death of the Cinivese lieutenant.

Dreibrand glanced worriedly in the direction of Sandin and gauged the progress of Sandin’s troops. "Cevlead, help me make a truce before it is too late," he pressed.

"You will not make me a traitor," Fanlyre insisted.

Dreibrand argued, "But Sandin Promentro deserves the loyalty of no man here. He has led this army to disaster. You know what you must do."

"And what must I do?" Fanlyre snapped.

"Stay alive, keep you men alive, seek victory for Atrophane, which in this case would mean escaping total annihilation," Dreibrand said.

Fanlyre chuckled derisively but then started to cough. He cleared his throat and said cynically, "I suppose you are going to kill us all?"

His sarcasm provoked Dreibrand, who said impatiently, "Look, Cevlead, I do not know where Shan and Alloi are, but wherever they are, Shan is winning. And when the rys King returns and sees that this army has not turned back for its own territory, I doubt that I can save you again. Shan has been taken over by some awful madness that I have never seen in him before. The Atrophane must cease to antagonize the rys King, or your doom will be certain."

Because Fanlyre had witnessed the horrid seizure of souls and their murderous rampage, he could not deny that the invasion had driven the rys King beyond all restraint.

Dreibrand said, "Cevlead, you saw for yourself what Shan can do to his enemies. No warding can protect you from his fury. Your weapons, your training, and your courage cannot stop him. Nor could your vicious rys allies. My devotion and pleas for mercy were barely sufficient to draw Shan back from a complete massacre. I do not know that he will listen to me a second time if you continue toward Jingten. And Sandin clearly means to continue. Do you think that King Shan will stay away if his rys are attacked again? Can you risk yourself and your soldiers on the chance that King Shan might stay away?"

Fanlyre did not answer the questions but he looked in the direction of the Darhet. Slowly, the soldiers were being reassembled, and Fanlyre contemplated his duty to report to his lord. Then, he surveyed the faces of the soldiers under his command. They flapped their arms and huddled together, trying to combat the wet that chilled their bodies to the core.

Dreibrand watched Fanlyre assess the condition of his men. Softly, Dreibrand said, "Help me make a truce, Cevlead. Then I can rid you of the man who flung you into an ill-begotten campaign that wasted many lives."

The suggestion startled Fanlyre. He hated that he had even listened to such treasonous words, but he could not stop thinking about what Dreibrand proposed.

"I cannot fight him for you," Fanlyre said. He scared himself with his weak response. He felt like an infant abandoned on the doorstep of an unreliable caretaker.

"I ask only that you support the truce," Dreibrand said. "I am the only man who is going to fight Sandin. This dispute is between Sandin and me now. He will answer for invading my land, and he will answer to all of you for misusing the imperial military."

"He is my Lord General," Fanlyre protested rigidly, as if arguing with himself. "Have the memories of duty and honor grown so dim in your mind?"

"You chastise me well, Lord Cevlead, but I am an Atrophane noble, and a noble demands a practical cause before choosing to be the servant of another noble," Dreibrand said with conviction.

Fanlyre could not decide if he should ridicule the cockiness of Dreibrand or admire it.

Unwilling to let Fanlyre make the wrong decision, Dreibrand heaped more arguments upon the commander’s rattled mind. "My offer of friendship still stands," Dreibrand said. "Once Sandin is gone, I can make peace with the Empire. I would do it gladly, and I can make an honorable peace for Atrophane. I am very wealthy. I would pay ransom for the security of my territory and negotiate a reasonable treaty for coexistence with the Empire. You could help engineer this, Lord Cevlead. You could be the bringer of profit, peace, and progress to the imperial frontier." Dreibrand had moved closer as he made his offers with increasing excitement.

"Stop!" Fanlyre cried. "I want none of these things. I can do nothing."

Dreibrand grabbed his arm. Fanlyre reached for his sword, but Dreibrand batted his hand away from the handle and pulled him close. "What do you want? Tell me," Dreibrand commanded. The time for Cevlead Fanlyre to become his ally or stay his enemy had come.

When Cevlead did not respond, Dreibrand added, "Tell me you serve Sandin Promentro with a loyal heart. Tell me you would defend your Lord General."

Cevlead found it difficult to buttress his thoughts with loyalty to the Darhet. Obligatory obedience to the Empire had gradually become an abstract option since Cevlead had begun his travels in Nufal.

Dreibrand leaned closer to Cevlead, who looked back at him thoughtfully. The cloth that had bound Dreibrand’s helmet and neck had come loose and the steel of his armor shone through the wet sagging fabric. The intensity of Dreibrand’s blue eyes begged Cevlead to be bold.

Cevlead whispered, "I hate him. I hate Sandin." The confiding of his terrible secret set him free. The magic of the tabre and his duty to the Darhet fell away from his mind. Cevlead Fanlyre would decide his own destiny.  

Dreibrand smiled because he had counted on Sandin’s lack of appeal. "We exchanged pledges of peace before and kept our bond. Would it be so hard to do so again?" Dreibrand said. He let go of Cevlead’s arm and took a polite step back.

"They will call me a traitor. Everyone will see that I sided with you," Cevlead said, but he was seeking advice more than arguing.

"The soldiers will see who was the officer who made the correct decision," Dreibrand coaxed. "Sandin no longer deserves to be the leader. Sandin knew better than to take soldiers against Jingten. Even with his rys allies, he could not have realistically expected to breach the Rysamand. Sandin knew firsthand how powerful Shan was. Your Darhet has failed in his duty to use his soldiers with wisdom. He wantonly tossed Atrophaney soldiers into a mill of death, where their souls risked a far worse fate. He did so either because he has lost his mind or because his rational mind has been corrupted by magic. You cannot dispute this."

Truly, Cevlead understood the ease with which Alloi had entered his mind. He had no reason to think that the same had not been done to the Darhet. Perhaps far more had been done, and Sandin could not be redeemed from the desire to crush the rys.

As a cadet and then a newly commissioned officer, Cevlead had not imagined that his loyalties could become confused. But the philosophy of his military education had been the wise use of soldiers for the benefit of the Empire. If the Empire prospered, so did its ruling class and its people. Provoking King Shan did not appear to bring any benefit to the Empire. Dreibrand is right. We are nobles. We do not have to blindly follow a lord who is in error, Cevlead thought. Remembering Ambio’s abrupt execution, Cevlead envisioned the Darhet’s whims turning against him even if he did remain loyal.

"The Darhet has gone mad," Cevlead said. "I see now how the tabre distorted his mind. I will help you end this."

Profoundly relieved, Dreibrand thanked him. He had persuaded Cevlead with little time to spare. Dreibrand and Cevlead shook hands and renewed their bond of peace.

"What will you do?" Cevlead said.

"I must go speak with my men, and then I will signal for parley," Dreibrand answered.

Skepticism soured Fanlyre’s expression. "The Darhet hates you, and he has more soldiers. He may simply attack."

"Then stand with me when I signal for parley, Cevlead. Your sanction of the discussion should forestall an attack," Dreibrand said. Cevlead looked appalled by the suggestion, but Dreibrand tried to encourage him. "I will signal for surrender. That will get Sandin’s attention. He will not miss a chance to accept my surrender," Dreibrand predicted.

Cevlead warned, "Sandin wants to execute you."

"How formal," Dreibrand remarked but he moved on quickly to important details. He asked Cevlead to stall reporting to Sandin and to tell his soldiers to stand down because a truce was being arranged.

"But, Dreibrand, even if Sandin agrees to speak with you, what will you say?" Cevlead said.

Eager delight erased many hardships from Dreibrand’s haggard face. "I will condemn Sandin for his mistakes and I will challenge him for his title of Lord General," Dreibrand answered.

The risks that Dreibrand embraced amazed Cevlead, but he wanted Dreibrand to succeed. Even with Tempet and Alloi gone, Cevlead could not believe that Sandin would relent from his assault. He would hunt the rys or, at the very least, ransack Vetanium, and as Dreibrand said, eventually Shan would come back to punish them when they did not leave the territory.

"May the Gods grant us a long friendship, Dreibrand Veta," Cevlead said trying to invoke a positive outcome.

"I wish for the same," Dreibrand said and really meant it. Although manipulating the loyalties of Cevlead Fanlyre had always been his hope, Dreibrand wanted their relationship to be genuine. "I must go talk with my people. I will ask the rys to help you with fires as soon as a truce can be arranged. Meet me at the base of that hill when I come forward to signal my parley."

Without waiting for Cevlead to respond, Dreibrand departed. The Atrophane soldiers observed his passing but did not hinder him. The men who had directly witnessed Dreibrand pleading with the rys King on their behalf had spread the story quickly, and the opinions of the soldiers favored him. Fanlyre’s order to assume a truce was not disputed.

Running up the hill warmed Dreibrand but could not dry the wet clothes beneath his armored jacket. Atarek rushed out to meet him, and when Dreibrand stopped, the wind cut through his flesh with an icy bone saw.

Only recently off the ground, Atarek was trembling severely.

"Stomp your feet. Move your arms," Dreibrand directed. After living in the north for several years, he had learned to cope with the climate.

Atarek followed the suggestion. After complaining about his sore hands and feet, he asked what had happened.

"It seems that Shan must have put everybody to sleep," Dreibrand said.

"That is what Tytido said," Atarek said. "But why? Just to make us freeze to death."

Dreibrand shook his head. He did not want to think about what passed for reason in Shan’s mind today. "It appears that Shan and the female have chosen to take their dispute elsewhere, which perhaps is the best for us," Dreibrand said.

"Perhaps it is," Atarek agreed.

Looking to Tytido, who was jogging in place, Dreibrand quickly inquired about the status of their warriors.

"Faychan is making sure that everyone is off the ground. Telling them to get ready to ride," Tytido said and then clamped shut his chattering teeth.

"Good, but that may not be necessary. I have gained a truce with Fanlyre," Dreibrand explained.

"Fanlyre," Atarek repeated with contempt. "You place too much store with that fool."

"He would see himself freed from Promentro’s leadership. That is enough for us," Dreibrand said. He pointed out the group of Atrophane that was supposed to stand down. Other groups of soldiers were drifting away from the remnants of Fanlyre’s cohort and returning to the Darhet’s side. The small size of Fanlyre’s command dismayed Atarek when he compared it to the bulk of the Atrophane that remained with Sandin.

Tytido shared Atarek’s worry that Dreibrand overestimated his chance for success. Tytido said, "Dreibrand, I know what you would like to do, but…we should go while we have the chance. We do not even know where Shan is."

"Good riddance," Dreibrand snarled. "I have had my fill of his help."

Too traumatized by the awful deployment of souls to comment about it, Tytido quietly continued to give his advice. "We need to fall back to the Tabren foothills. Great damage has been done to this invasion force, but we are not sufficient to finish it off. We must avoid more casualties and force them to seek us out where the terrain will make us equal. We have our stashes of food to sustain us, and if we hurry, we can destroy the supplies that the Atrophane have left poorly guarded at their camp."

Dreibrand nodded to each suggestion that Tytido made. "And Lord Tytido, that is exactly what you shall do if things do not go well for me," he said.

Tytido’s dark eyes silently questioned the actions that Dreibrand appeared determined to take.

Faychan returned from his inspection and immediately noticed the nervous tension among Tytido, Atarek, and Dreibrand.

"What is our plan?" Faychan asked.

Dreibrand greeted the aging mercenary and replied, "I will go forward and challenge Sandin Promentro." He spoke with enthusiasm as if the presence of his rival lifted a great burden of impatience from his mind.

"I see," Faychan murmured. He reflected on how discussion had now turned to action. A tingle of excitement for Dreibrand’s daring plan warmed Faychan slightly.

"Hey, Dreiby," Atarek said. "I know I said this sounded like a good idea, but I do not think so now." He glanced meaningfully at Promentro’s force.

Dreibrand said, "I want to do this, At. And it is important to our House. We need a victory, a big victory, and this is our chance. Walk out with me and carry our banner."

Atarek recognized his brother’s old thirst for success, but this time it did not rouse his confidence in grandiose schemes. "But you said you needed Shan with you when you did this," Atarek reminded.

Although Dreibrand shared Atarek’s doubt, he could not measure himself by his relationship with Shan anymore.

"I do not need Shan to hide behind. I will show all those men my worthiness on my own," Dreibrand said solemnly.

Tytido interjected, "No one suggests that you have ever hidden behind Shan."

"It would not have to be suggested," Dreibrand snapped. "We are not going to wait for Shan or look for him. Is it just me who noticed what he did?" He swept his gaze around his inner circle, forcing them to accept that the rys King had become unhinged during the battle. It was an unpleasant fact for all of them. Their alliance with Shan had always been crucial.

Dreibrand salvaged some optimism and said, "But we can see if our current rys companions are still in this with us." He instructed Tytido and Faychan to organize their warriors into a line across the hilltop. Then, he asked Atarek to accompany him as he went to talk to the rys.

Most of the rys soldiers simply stood beside their horses, seemingly waiting for orders. Dreibrand asked the first rys soldier that he reached if anyone knew where Shan had gone.

The rys shook his head. "What shall we do, Lord Dreibrand?" the soldier asked. He looked toward Taf Ila, who showed no signs of functioning.

Dreibrand asked the brooding rys soldier to be patient and continued with his brother toward Taf Ila. Dreibrand had no special relationship with Jingten’s former and current Captain of the Guard, and Dreibrand disliked having to intrude on the elder rys’s grief. Shan’s disappearance also added to Dreibrand’s unease. He no longer carried himself with the certainty that he was the King’s favorite.

"Captain," he said.

Without looking up, Taf Ila ordered the rude humans to go away.

"The war is not over. You are needed," Dreibrand said.

"The war is over for me," Taf Ila said. He lifted his head a little and Dreibrand glimpsed the image of the female corpse reflected by the vacant blackness of his eyes. 

"Captain, you have my sympathy, truly, but the other rys soldiers need you," Dreibrand said. "The King is gone, and everyone, including our enemies are recovering from the spell. We must act. I have gained a truce from a portion of the Atrophane army." Dreibrand pointed to Fanlyre’s group, and he was encouraged to see Taf Ila’s eyes follow his finger. "And, Captain Taf Ila, we need all the rys to help us with their magic. Can you warm the bodies of men? The exposure is hurting us. Hurting me. Can you make us warm?"

The quiet pleading of the man’s voice touched Taf Ila. He understood that the humans had to be cold. Taf Ila could understand cold. The dead hand of his daughter impressed on his mind the fire that had died inside of her.

Painfully, Taf Ila nodded. "You are right, Lord Dreibrand. I would not have Quylan’s death be part of a defeat. She has died for our victory."

He pulled Quylan’s body from the horse’s back and arranged her on the ground. Dead and spattered with ice, she embodied the sacrifice of war.

Taf Ila straightened and said, "I will order my soldiers to help your men get warm. I know that is what my daughter would have done."

"Start with my brother," Dreibrand said, and he gave Atarek a reassuring glance.

Taf Ila searched within his soul for the power inherent in all rys. The death of his precious and young daughter had seemed to stomp the flame of his magic into cold ash, but he found one spark. Raising his right hand, he placed his palm over Atarek’s heart. Taf Ila had difficulty being gentle with so much rage and agony inside. Restraining his turbulent emotions, he pushed a subtle heat spell through Atarek’s body, granting him a reprieve from exposure.

Atarek dropped his head back slightly and sighed. The relief from the spell was better than entering a cozy cabin with a roaring fire.

With his shivering banished, Atarek grinned gratefully to his brother. "You should get some of that, Dreiby."

"At the Captain’s convenience," Dreibrand said.

Taf Ila obliged him, and the enchanted warmth radiated through Dreibrand’s bloodstream from his heart. Dreibrand felt strong again although he doubted that his vitality would last very long.

"Captain, I thank you," Dreibrand said.

The rys captain did not acknowledge him. Before resuming his duties as a leader, Taf Ila looked once more at his daughter. He could scarcely accept that the discarded heap was his beautiful Quylan, the Queen of Jingten.

Dreibrand and Atarek climbed over the hill and viewed the Atrophane forces. Cevlead and his men had not moved, but beyond the wide spray of dead bodies, Sandin’s forces were reassembled and appeared ready to march at any moment.

I must signal my surrender now , Dreibrand thought, and although it was only a drastic ruse meant to get Sandin to participate in a parley, Dreibrand acknowledged that he truly would be surrendering a part of himself. His days of freedom from the Empire were over.

8. Parley

Sandin has been with me the longest and I hold him in much esteem. He is a great noble, whose service to the Empire adds to its greatness. Perhaps I am wrong to test him with the favor that I show Dreibrand, but I enjoy the charisma of the young censured lord, and seeing Sandin feel threatened is very interesting – Lord General Kwan Chenomet, journal entry, year 778 Atrophane calendar.

 

With unexpected detachment, Dreibrand examined the moving formations of Atrophane soldiers. He spotted the officers on their horses and knew which blocks of infantry went with each rider. The cavalry units had been substantially thinned, and, altogether, the invasion host had been cut in half. What remained of the abused army Dreibrand intended to claim.

Casually, he asked Tytido to bring him a spear and to borrow a bow and three arrows from an archer. As Tytido fulfilled the assignment, Dreibrand went to his horse. He patted Astar on the neck and took out the last of the unused bandages from a saddlebag. Looking at the white cloth on his grimy gauntlet, Dreibrand remembered watching Miranda tear the old linens into bandages for him to take with him.

Thinking of his wife, he instantly clung to his devotion to his family. Startled that his thoughts had strayed from them during the stress of battle, Dreibrand turned quickly to the east. The freezing rain on the plains had been snow in the mountains. White dusted the dark mountainsides.

He expected that his family and the other refugees would have reached the shelter of Elendra by now. Sitting around fires, they would be thinking of their cold warriors on the open land. Fortunately for the Nufalese men, the blessing of rys magic could pass on the warmth of distant hearths. The rys were working their way through Dreibrand’s men and warming them with controlled heat spells. Those warriors who had already been treated were mounting their horses with renewed vigor. They waited for the command to attack or withdraw.

Perhaps they shall do neither, Dreibrand hoped. With the safety of his family and people to motivate him, he was not afraid of what he had to do.

Atarek noted the bandages in his brother’s hands and said, "I guess you are planning on getting hurt."

"I shall try not to, At," Dreibrand said.

Tytido returned with the requested items. Dreibrand draped the bandage strips over his arm and reached for the spear. He handed it to Atarek with a ceremonial flourish.

"Will you walk out with me, Brother?" Dreibrand invited again.

For Dreibrand’s sake, Atarek hid his nervousness with a grin. "Yes, I will. Someone has to look out for your crazy ass," he said.

"Most definitely," Dreibrand agreed.

Atarek moved around Astar and retrieved the House of Veta flag from the saddlebag hanging from the colt’s other flank. While unpacking the banner, Atarek said, "I guess it’s a good thing we brought a spare." The other banner was lost with his gear and dead horse on the battlefield.

"Standard military practice," Dreibrand said.

"I see," Atarek muttered and started fumbling his way through mounting the banner on the spear. The fabric rolled open and the black stallion galloping on the field of green waved hesitantly. Atarek recalled the reckless ambitions of his grandfather that had eventually ruined their House. Perhaps only bold action can restore our family, he thought and wanted very much to believe that he could contribute to that goal. Although pride stirred inside Atarek, he still measured his desire to confront Sandin Promentro against his lingering doubts. Atarek envied Dreibrand’s certainty.

 Dreibrand took one arrow from Tytido and began tying a strip of white cloth around the shaft. He explained, "In the past, before Atrophane was a united and civilized place, the Houses and the Clans often warred. Yet, we were of the same culture and we shared many customs and traditions. Shooting three white-flagged arrows is a signal for parley. To be precise, a parley to discuss terms for surrender."

"But you cannot," Atarek protested, but Tytido stayed calm and waited for Dreibrand to tell them his angle.

"It is just to get Sandin’s attention. Once I have his ear, I will issue my formal challenge," Dreibrand said and started on the second arrow. He explained further that Cevlead’s presence would sanction their call for discussion and the soldiers would expect Sandin to observe the traditions. Sandin’s officers would advise him to avoid any more fighting because of their heavy losses, and if the Atrophane thought that Dreibrand would simply give up, then they would want to let him. Dreibrand knowingly added that the Atrophane were accustomed to having opponents surrender to them.  

"I think you make too many assumptions," Atarek judged.

Dreibrand smiled, mostly with approval for his brother’s sudden adoption of critical thinking. "That is why we must hurry. If my signal is ignored, then we can still retreat."

"I am ready," Atarek said and gestured with his flag.

Dreibrand held out his hand and Tytido gave him the third arrow.

When the arrows were finished, the brothers mounted their horses quickly, and Tytido handed the bow to Dreibrand.

"You know what to do if things go badly," Dreibrand said to Tytido in the western language.

"Yes, I have been getting lots of practice," Tytido said.

"Was that a joke?" Dreibrand asked.

"I hope so," Tytido said. After an anxious look at the approaching Atrophane, Tytido wished them luck and told them to get moving.

Dreibrand and Atarek started down the hill. They looked at each other, and both men privately marveled at the moment that they were sharing. 

Breaking eye contact, Dreibrand said, "Atarek, I issue the challenge."

Having expected the little last minute reminder, Atarek controlled his annoyance.  He invited Dreibrand to argue the point and said, "I have more reason to challenge that bastard than you do."

Dreibrand appreciated his brother’s animosity toward Sandin, and although he respected Atarek’s fighting ability, he would not allow his elder brother to make the challenge. Dreibrand and Sandin were both graduates of the Darmar’s military academy, and the school required expertise in the martial arts. Even if Sandin was past the prime years of manhood, Dreibrand knew that Sandin remained a formidable fighter.

Sparing his brother’s pride as much as possible, Dreibrand said, "This is my role, Atarek, and you know it."

Reluctantly, Atarek considered that the stakes were much higher than he could wager. Although he believed that he could twist Sandin’s head off, he was not foolish enough to think that he could win command of the Atrophane soldiers. Dreibrand was the warrior, the victor of campaigns, and the self-proclaimed Lord of Nufal. The soldiers would look to him for guidance, not a rowdy civilian, who barely even took himself seriously.

"Be careful, Dreiby," Atarek whispered.

"This is the easy part," Dreibrand said, and the storm clouds thinned briefly in the west. Bright light twinkled on the frosty plains. After such a day of ugliness, Nufal still mustered a moment of awesome beauty.

The brothers reached the base of the hill. Just ahead of them, Cevlead waited with his soldiers. Dreibrand assumed that by now the commander’s lack of movement perplexed Sandin.

Cevlead moved out slowly on his horse to meet Dreibrand and Atarek. The commander did not speak immediately when he joined them. He stared at Dreibrand as if reassessing his decision a final time.

 The sight of Commander Fanlyre joining Dreibrand was entirely unexpected by the Atrophane. Sandin’s force hesitated until the drums finally stopped. The Atrophane soldiers reacted with the mild confusion of an audience that does not understand the performance.

"Treachery!" Sandin fumed. He swung his wrathful gaze onto Rearden, the officer who Sandin had just rewarded with the field commission of lieutenant after killing Ambio. Sandin demanded to know why his soldiers were stopping.

"My Lord, we do not know what Fanlyre’s men are doing," Rearden replied. "He has not reported."

"I gave no order to halt," Sandin said.

"But, my Lord, I think that we have paused naturally—"

Sandin immediately cut him off. "Naturally! Soldiers do what they are told, not what they feel like doing."

Rearden tried not to be intimidated by his lord’s raving. "Look, my Lord!" he said, grateful for a reason to divert Sandin’s attention.

Dreibrand lifted a bow and sent an arrow into the air. Its white flag flapped in the wind, and the extra weight brought the arrow down quickly. A second arrow followed and punched into the turf near the first one. Sandin narrowed his eyes suspiciously when the third white flag flew through the air.

"My Lord, he signals for parley," Rearden said excitedly.

Infuriated by Rearden’s eagerness for conversation instead of battle, Sandin saw red for a moment. He struggled to unclog the emotional blockage of his reason. With Alloi gone, thinking had become difficult as if his mind had been weakened by injury.

"He is asking for your terms, I believe," Rearden said. The traditional forms of Atrophaney negotiation were obscure to him. They had not been needed in his lifetime.

"I can see that, Lieutenant," Sandin said. "Now, resume our attack."

Rearden wavered. He hated to dispute the Darhet, especially today, but Rearden believed that his opinions had tactical value. A lieutenant was supposed to be capable of advising his lord and expected to do so. "My Lord, perhaps we should speak with him. Maybe Commander Fanlyre does not act because he has already heard the offer of surrender. And the parley would give us an opportunity to send a cohort back to our camp and better secure our supplies. They no doubt meant to lure us away from our camp with their surprise attack last night."

"Fanlyre is a born traitor!" Sandin yelled. He shut his eyes briefly. Betrayed by Fanlyre, Sandin felt a terrible violation. His head throbbed with fatigue, and he fell back on his new lieutenant’s recommendation. Sandin told him to send men to retrieve their supplies. Rearden gladly assigned a commander to take his soldiers back to provide support and protection to the wagons and teamsters left behind after the army chased Shan into the night.

As the new lieutenant carried out his order, Sandin considered that Dreibrand’s ridiculous display presented him with an opportunity. Accepting the invitation to parley would give Alloi time to return, and thinking of her power renewed Sandin. He was pleased by his wise choice to wait for her before sending his soldiers into battle. The faintly pulsing veins of light in the oval crystal on his wrist told him to be patient. Sandin had no doubt that Alloi was alive.

"She is still with us," Sandin murmured.

When Rearden returned to his lord’s side, he noticed the Darhet staring at the charm. He understood that it was a far stronger enchantment than the small crystal secured to his neck.

Sandin yanked his eyes away from the bracelet and briskly gathered Rearden and a dozen cavalrymen to his side. The Darhet’s group moved forward through the ranks of soldiers toward the open field where the white flags fluttered on the trampled ground. The concept of dictating terms to Dreibrand entertained Sandin. He told Rearden that Dreibrand should prefer surrender to the total destruction that awaited his small force.

Rearden acknowledged his lord’s opinion approvingly but was inwardly doubtful about the imminent destruction of their enemy. Abused by the cold, he lacked the inner fire to give battle, and the soldiers shaking on their feet appeared to be sapped of strength by terror and exposure. The endurance spell that had powered him and the others through the night had faded and left behind an abnormal weariness that dulled the mind. Rearden could not recall the last time he had taken a bite of food.

When Cevlead saw the soldiers coming forward with Sandin, he urgently warned Dreibrand about being captured.

"I welcome the spectators that Sandin brings to listen to me," Dreibrand said.

Cevlead needed a greater source of confidence than Dreibrand’s faith in good luck. He pivoted in his saddle and signaled to his sergeant. Twenty foot soldiers ran forth with the sergeant to join Cevlead.

"Thank you, Lord Cevlead," Dreibrand said. He was certain he heard Sandin cuss in the distance.

"I will want more than your thanks," Fanlyre said.

Cevlead’s hint for payment drew Dreibrand’s attention away from his rival. Eyeing the young noble man, Dreibrand said, "You shall be rewarded."

Although the promise had value, it did not ease Cevlead’s awful fear. With Sandin and his soldiers coming closer, Cevlead felt like a prisoner in a cell watching the crowd gather for his execution, but he braced himself manfully for the consequences of his actions.

When Sandin saw the pack of traitorous infantry scurry forth to presumably protect Dreibrand’s right to parley, he nearly ordered a charge. They all deserved execution, but even whipped by his numerous rages, Sandin accepted that ordering his soldiers to fight the Atrophane soldiers mixed up with Dreibrand would be problematic. Dreibrand’s banner of his Atrophane House advertised his kinship all too clearly, and by tradition, an Atrophane noble should acknowledge the parley signal from his enemy noble. Sandin decided that it was smarter to play the game that the Veta brothers had started. They could have their civilized chat and then everybody, Fanlyre included, would be punished for their terrible impudence.   

Sandin spurred his tired horse into a run and led his riders in a slowly tightening circle around Dreibrand’s group. As Sandin closed on their position, he watched Dreibrand and Atarek turn their heads to track him. Sandin regarded them with complete contempt and then flipped a disrespectful look at their banner as if it was a piece of an old woman’s laundry.

Dreibrand and Atarek were unimpressed by his sneering display, and their calm reassured the Atrophane who stood with them. Sandin stopped and his riders fanned out from his sides. As was appropriate during a parley, he did not surround his opponents although he had wanted them to sweat about the possibility.

Now that he was close to Dreibrand, Sandin actually took pleasure in the meeting. Dreibrand and his brother looked weak with their little crowd of pathetic traitors. Sandin moved forward a little farther on his horse and turned it aside so that he could address Dreibrand more directly. Dreibrand moved out as well and mirrored Sandin’s stance.

As the two men faced off, Rearden studied Dreibrand with interest. He had heard about the exploits of Lord Kwan’s infamous former lieutenant, and the man in front of him fit the stories. A fabulous armored jacket covered his broad shoulders and his rys-made sword glowed gently with enchantment. The rumor that Dreibrand Veta could dip into the treasures of Jingten at will had also reached Rearden’s ears. Although impressed by Dreibrand, Rearden still believed the censured renegade owed penance to his people, which the Darhet would surely extract from him.

Sandin shouted, "After all these years, Dreibrand Veta finally shows himself. Has your shame finally worn off, deserter?"

Dreibrand hid his distress over Sandin’s bold use of the truth. Apparently the maintenance of Lord Kwan’s honor was no longer a priority. None of that will matter when Sandin dies at my hands, Dreibrand thought and he glared at Sandin with a cold gaze that promised death. Sandin would soon have to answer for the humiliation of Atarek and the invasion of Nufal. "I have wanted this chance to speak with you, Sandin Promentro," he said ominously.

Sandin snorted. "Listen close, you insolent bastard. My terms are that one in ten of your men must die. The others I will let live. You and your brother must surrender yourselves to me and answer for your crimes to the Empire."

"You are the criminal!" Atarek shouted and thrust his banner-laden spear into the ground. "This territory is claimed by the House of Veta. You have invaded without provocation."

"You are the allies of imperial enemies and squatters on land that you have no more right to than a brothel slave," Sandin snarled.

"That is the last insult you will ever make to us," Atarek declared, and Dreibrand decided he had to intervene.

Specifically addressing the soldiers with Sandin, he said, "I am Dreibrand of the House of Veta. I am the Lord of Vetanium and a guardian of Nufal."

Atarek introduced himself as well, and a soothing dignity embraced his spirit when he stated that he was Lord Atarek Veta, heir of his House.

Seeking to annoy Sandin, Dreibrand spoke to the officer who had come with him. "Who are you, Commander?"

"Lieutenant," Rearden corrected without much enthusiasm and added his name.

"Ah, the fortunes of war," Dreibrand commented fondly. "I became a lieutenant after a great battle. Of course, that battle had been a victory for Atrophane, unlike today."

"The day is not over," Rearden said, employing his imperial confidence. "Your signal for surrender is all that has delayed my Lord Darhet from destroying your remaining force."

"Quit wasting time, Dreibrand," Sandin commanded. "Either accept my terms, or go take your place with your fighters. I would grant you that courtesy before I attack."

"Courtesy?" Dreibrand mocked. "What do you know of courtesy, Sandin? My brother found your manners lacking."

"You are both censured pigs," Sandin said. "Stop clinging to your noble birth because it means nothing anymore. Drinking pure water still makes piss."

"You are proof of that," Atarek said, and all the Atrophane soldiers tensed expectantly. The sharpening exchange of insults would surely require action soon.

Although Dreibrand admired how Atarek taunted their enemy, he feared that Atarek would overstep himself. Dreibrand seized back the dialogue. "Sandin, in essence, you are before me to hear my terms," he announced.

"What arrogance!" Sandin exclaimed, truly surprised until he remembered who he was talking to. His mind churned with annoying memories about Dreibrand. The young man who had so impressed Lord Kwan with his flattery and front line stunts. The censured noble who would not adhere to the punishment that his House deserved.

Dreibrand said, "I propose a truce. The true combatants are gone. The King of Jingten has destroyed your rys champion and disappeared with your spellmaking female. It is foolishness for us to fight. I have no desire to fight Atrophane men born of the same land as I. All of us are exposed to the cold and we need to attend to our physical needs. It is time for a truce so that the Lord Darhet and I can adopt a posture of negotiation between nobles."

Sickened by the speech, Sandin discarded his plan to waste time until Alloi came back. He jerked his horse around and snarled that the parley was over.

"You shall listen to him!" Cevlead yelled before anyone else moved. His assertiveness roused his soldiers.  

Sandin heard the voice of his delinquent commander and thought about the sword at his hip. He wanted to draw the blade, chase Cevlead down, and give him a squealing death.

Rearden expressed his disgust while the Darhet simmered. "Your actions are sickening, Fanlyre. You dishonor your Clan," Rearden said.

Unmoved by the criticism, Cevlead said. "How do you like filling Ambio’s boots?"

"I fill my own boots!" Rearden snapped defensively.

Cevlead continued, "Think of your peril, Rearden. Even a Cinivese officer deserved a better hearing. My confidence in the Darhet’s leadership is gone. His mental state is in doubt."

Dreibrand did not know what they were talking about, but he gathered that Sandin had done something that disturbed both of them.

"I hardly think that a rookie commander should question the mental state of his lord," Rearden scolded.

Dreibrand pounced. "But I would question it!" He rode his horse slowly in front of Sandin’s soldiers. "I am a son of one of Atrophane’s original Houses. I am here to challenge the leadership of Sandin Promentro."

Sandin whirled around and his sword came out. "You will pay for your crimes, Veta!" he said.

"And you will pay for yours," Dreibrand said. The cold hatred in Sandin’s eyes glittered like the costly jewels on his helmet and the fine edge of his blade. His passion to kill excited Dreibrand. He wants to fight me. He wants it! he thought. 

"How dare you?" Sandin seethed. He switched his attention to Fanlyre, blasting the man with his contempt. Sandin told the men with Fanlyre that anyone who interfered would be executed as a traitor.

Dreibrand counted on avoiding a conflict that involved the soldiers. "Sandin Promentro!" he yelled. "The soldiers want the truce I offer. They have suffered enough from your leadership today."

"Your surrender is all the truce that you will get," Sandin said.

Dreibrand rejected the chance to become Sandin’s prisoner. Drawing his sword, he addressed Sandin’s mounted warriors, whose eyes bounced between him and their lord.

Dreibrand said, "As a noble, it is my place to correct your lord’s faulty leadership. Stand back, and let me hear Promentro answer my challenge. You must grant me that."

The strictures of class and military discipline had taught the soldiers obedience, but the same things had taught them that they had no place in the quarrels of nobles. The heavy losses and horrors of the day left the soldiers inclined to hear Sandin’s answer to the challenge. Fanlyre’s rescinded loyalty also indicated that another noble questioned the Darhet’s actions as well.

"Capture him!" Sandin shouted.  

The soldiers hesitated, uncertain of the situation.

Dreibrand saw on the faces of the men ordered to capture him that his bravery impressed them, and that Sandin’s recent failings were foremost in their minds.

"They want to hear your answer, Sandin. If you can invade my land, you can defend your honor," Dreibrand said. "I insist you have forsaken your authority by serving Tempet and Alloi and taking many men to a terrible death, and you have nothing to say?"

"I do not have to answer to you," Sandin hissed.

"Then you have to answer to your army. How many men did you lose today? And for what? Tempet is dead, and Alloi is somewhere meeting the same fate. Without them, you are just an army in hostile territory and bad weather. You have forgotten your duty to use your soldiers wisely. You risked the very souls of Atrophane men with your madness. It was I who pleaded with the rys King to let you go, and it is I who will take command of this army before you drive all of these men to their deaths." The criticisms poured forth from Dreibrand. When they had served together under Lord Kwan, he had longed to drag Sandin into disgrace.

"Silence!" Sandin roared.

He charged Dreibrand, but no soldiers reacted to his lead, and he aborted the attack. Dreibrand held his horse steady and did not flinch. Atarek jittered for action and his horse jumped forward.

Crippled by the unexpected course that the parley had taken, Rearden was unsure that it was his place to act.

Threatened by the ominous inaction of his soldiers, Sandin faced the possibility that his men actually wanted him to prove his worth. Slapped by the ridicule of another noble, they wanted to see how he was superior. For the first time ever, the Atrophaney class structure worked against Sandin. The rank-in-file commoners whose obedience created his power now seemed willing to watch another noble try to seize authority over them.

"You are ruined man, Dreibrand. It is not your place to judge my leadership," Sandin said, hoping to regain the confidence of his stalled soldiers.

"I know what standard you are to be held to, Sandin. I would never squander the lives of my soldiers as you have done. You have failed in your duty to the Empire," Dreibrand said. "I would replace you before more men die."

Insecurity was a foreign sensation for Sandin, and he tried to mask it with disdain for the challenge. "And just how would you replace me?" he sneered.

Dreibrand’s skin tightened into gooseflesh. He had imagined this moment many times, and he felt greedy anticipation as he spoke the words. 

"In personal combat," he said. "The bitterness between us should not involve the lives of soldiers. Let us settle this as nobles. In a duel."

Sandin considered the challenge. He just as easily could have left and ordered his army to attack, but a personal combat with Dreibrand had immense appeal, and it would give Dreibrand no opportunity to escape. Sandin had always wanted to be the punishing hand that smote Dreibrand, and slaying the shameless exile would rekindle the loyalty of the soldiers into a bright flame.

"What form?" Sandin asked coolly.

"Galmonlay tradition," Dreibrand replied without hesitation.

"Then I declare a truce," Sandin said. "We shall meet at noon tomorrow." 

Citing the classic method of dueling for the military elite surprised the soldiers. Its ugliness had not been witnessed for generations.

9. The Savage Depths

The exhausted troops on both sides welcomed the truce. They clustered into small camps in the prairie hollows and sat in tight circles to block the wind and weather the night. They would wait until morning before attending to the bodies that littered the land. No one looked forward to digging holes in the half-frozen ground, but the truce obligated them to spare the fallen the undignified treatment of the carrion eaters.

The wind was persistent and cold. Clouds blocked the inspiring stars, but the elements granted one mercy, which was that the rain did not resume. Even so, starting fires proved a futile task for the Atrophane after they retrieved their supplies from their torn camp of the night before. The scant fuel that could be gleaned from the plains was soaking wet or even coated with ice. When a rys soldier came to Cevlead and started his fire, the blessed flames alone validated the commander’s decision to support Dreibrand.

After some fires sprang up among Cevlead’s troops, he ordered his sergeant to take some coals to the other Atrophane and help them. Cevlead, however, declined to approach his associates. He worried that his actions had estranged him from the other officers. Although proud of personally making the challenge to the Darhet’s leadership possible, his guilt over the betrayal was inescapable.

As he spread his bare fingers directly over his delicate fire, he told himself that he would not even have this minimal heat if he had not aided Dreibrand. Soldiers huddled tightly around the little fire with Cevlead. Their bodies protected the precious flames from the wind and greedily absorbed the energy of the fire.

"Sir, do you think Lord Dreibrand will…win?" a soldier asked.

Cevlead snapped his eyes onto the soldier who had sounded more worried about Dreibrand failing than losing his current Lord General.

"Yes, of course," Cevlead answered quickly because he had to hide any trace of doubt from the men in his command. "Lord Dreibrand will show you he deserves to be Lord General."

The soldier digested the answer and seemed disturbed by his hope.

On the other side of the hill from Cevlead’s fire, Dreibrand contemplated the faith that so many people had in him as he toured his haggard camp. He missed the faces of many Nufalese settlers and hoped that his duel would spare the lives of the rest of them.

Weary as he was, Dreibrand took the time to check on each wounded man. Because of healing assistance from his rys allies, many of the wounded were going to survive. A few suffered from grim injuries though, and Dreibrand recognized that they would die. Those who were conscious Dreibrand praised for their bravery and asked if he could fulfill any requests for them. Already surrounded by their closest friends, the dying had divvied their possessions and had little else to ask for. Dreibrand assured each dying man that his efforts to defend Nufal had made the difference.

Their sacrifices motivated Dreibrand as much as his dreams. Tomorrow, he alone would assume the burden of defending Nufal.

The rys had paid a high price to defend their homeland as well. When Dreibrand visited the rys section of camp, he found that the rys, with their advanced senses, had already gone into the night and collected their dead. They arranged the bodies in a long row next to their lovely Queen, whose reign had been so much shorter than Jingten’s last Queen.

Taf Ila, who was functioning for the sake of the other soldiers, paused in his contemplation of his daughter’s corpse when Dreibrand spoke to him.

Quietly, Dreibrand asked, "Does anyone have any idea where Shan went?"

Taf Ila shook his head. "If dear Quylan were still with us, she could find him. But our King is beyond any of our senses. And that wretched female has not been detected either."

Dreibrand frowned. Although he actually dreaded seeing Shan again, Dreibrand had expected the rys King to return. He had counted on the fearsome presence of Shan to keep the still larger Atrophane army under control, especially if Sandin broke his commitment to the duel. 

Taf Ila said, "Lord Dreibrand, tomorrow, I will be returning to Jingten with…my daughter and the other dead."

Alarmed by the announcement, Dreibrand instantly asked Taf Ila to stay. Even without Shan, the rys soldiers enhanced his small force greatly.

Taf Ila held up an impatient hand. "I am done here. With the location of my King unknown and one of the enemy rys still unaccounted for, I must return to Jingten and see that our home is defended. But, in consideration of your need, I will allow rys to volunteer to stay with you."

"Please," Dreibrand said, supposing that he should be grateful that Taf Ila granted him that. "I wholeheartedly request volunteers."

Taf Ila turned back toward Quylan, effectively ending the brief discussion, and Dreibrand respectfully withdrew. On his way out of the rys camp, Dreibrand stopped and personally asked several rys to consider volunteering. Many of the rys soldiers who had been in Vetanium since summer had become accustomed to human company and had even made some friends. They said they would decide by morning.

Atarek and Tytido had coaxed some tea into brewing by the time Dreibrand joined them at their tiny campfire. He gratefully accepted a cup. The heat spell that had revived him earlier was wearing off, and the cold gnawed at his weary body again. Atarek pulled out a flask and offered to spike the tea. Dreibrand opted to drink a shot straight from the flask. The alcohol was especially strong in his fatigued body. Its relieving influence melted through his system rapidly.

"Here, Dreiby, have some food," Atarek said and offered some rations.

Dreibrand ate in silence, methodically replenishing his body that had been driven to extremes during the long battle. He did not look up from the pan until Tytido packed his pipe. Despite his expert technique, Tytido cussed in his native language as he struggled to light the bowl in the stiff wind. He grabbed the closest shield and propped it up in order to create a small wind break. After managing a few puffs, he offered the pipe to Dreibrand.

As Dreibrand indulged in a smoke, Tytido said, "I am skeptical about this truce."

Dreibrand tried to put him at ease. "The Atrophane are just as exhausted as we are. They will wait to see what happens between Sandin and me," he said and passed the pipe to Atarek. Despite his propensity for vices, Atarek was soon coughing.

Tytido said, "I must admit that I did not truly believe the Atrophane would be so receptive to your challenge of their leader. You are their enemy."

Dreibrand clarified, "I am an Atrophane noble. So, those soldiers see me as a countryman who has a disagreement with their lord."

"But for their loyalty to Sandin to be so weak…" Tytido said.

"I know they seem fickle to you," Dreibrand said, feeling the need to defend his people. "But Sandin has not cultivated their loyalty. He has demanded it, but never earned it. When I was an officer, I began to gain power because I was popular. I did not assume that I was a leader. I showed that I was a leader."

Tytido nodded, accepting that Dreibrand’s explanation was not so strange. Years ago, Tytido had decided that Dreibrand deserved his loyalty more than other men deserved it.

Atarek cleared his throat and gave the pipe back to Tytido. He retrieved his dependable flask but stopped it halfway to his mouth. Studying the western characters etched into the metal flask, he asked, "Dreibrand, are you really sure this whole thing is a good idea?"

"Do you doubt that I can take Promentro?" Dreibrand said defensively.

Atarek rolled his eyes, searching for the right words. He did not want to offend his brother, but he wanted to express his worry. "Dreiby, it is a combat. Anything could happen. You know, bad luck. I just do not know if I can let you go through with this."

"I did not ask for your permission," Dreibrand said.

"Well maybe you should have," Atarek snapped.

Sensing that the brothers needed some privacy, Tytido excused himself and went to wait for scouts to report back to camp.

Dreibrand was grateful for his friend’s tact. Alone now with his brother, he said, "Is this about you being the older brother? Do you think this should be your fight?"

Atarek muttered bitterly, "Yeah. I guess something like that."

Dreibrand sat forward. "Atarek, this fight between Sandin and I could have easily happened years ago when I was still in the military. But I promise you, At, tomorrow he will pay for what he did to you. The insult to our House has been foremost in my mind even if I speak mostly of challenging him so I can seize his power."

Atarek gestured dismissively. He did not like the subject. "Why stick around here when our enemies outnumber us? It is too risky. They only accepted the truce because they were cold and tired. I say we should go find King Shan. You said he was our greatest advantage."

Dreibrand cast his gaze into the hot mysteries of the campfire. He searched the small flames for his lost love for Shan. The affection was there, but it cried like a forlorn child lost in a crowded market. Gathering his resolve, Dreibrand intended to go on without the support from Shan that he had become so accustomed to having.

"I do not want to see Shan. You may not realize what happened when I begged him to stop the horror this afternoon, but he hurt me." Dreibrand took a deep breath as he remembered the pain. "I do not know what stopped Shan. If it was me, or him, or the Gods we are supposed to believe in. But, I do not know him anymore."

Atarek detected his brother’s desolation. The strength that Dreibrand derived from his friendship with Shan had been obvious, and Atarek did not want his brother to act rashly because of his sudden vulnerability. Atarek knew that his brother was prone to snap decisions in times of stress. Perhaps that made him a good leader and perhaps it did not.

"I still think you should reconsider your options," Atarek persisted.

For a moment, Dreibrand sagged beneath the pressure of his brother’s concerns. Although he was fully aware of the increased risks due to Shan’s departure, it did not diminish the prize.

"I must follow through on my challenge," Dreibrand said. "You must agree that this is our big chance. With Tempet gone, and probably Alloi as well, we can secure Nufal for years by subduing this army."

Atarek recognized when his brother’s mind was made up. They had argued too many times in the past for him to waste more time on the activity.

Dreibrand understood that essentially Atarek was only concerned for his safety. Feeling very close to his brother, Dreibrand tried to reassure him. He explained that he had fought far more battles than Sandin and that he was the younger man. 

Atarek believed that his brother was capable of winning, but he still dreaded the scheduled combat. If time never reached that point, he would be grateful. His wish even seemed possible. Tomorrow seemed a vague concept. Since the onset on the fierce battle the night before, each minute had taken on an excruciating clarity. Every moment of life became a precious gift. The trauma of battle had only started to soak into Atarek’s frazzled nerves. His exhaustion did not compare to his worst hangover.

He suggested that Dreibrand get some rest.

Many campaigns had bestowed upon Dreibrand the ability to sleep between fights. Battle scenes haunted all of his days, but he could give his body what it needed. Curling up to his saddle and battle gear, he passed out.

Atarek kissed his flask a couple times and listened to the howling wind. Eventually, he succumbed to his physical need to rest and lay down next to his brother. Reminded of their childhood, Atarek focused on the memory of a mild night spent camping on the beach with Dreibrand. The warm summer air soothed him in his mind as the wretched north wind galloped around his ankles.

The brothers slept, but the insecure environment kept their senses tuned to the world. Atarek and Dreibrand awoke in the same instant when light steps prowled close.

"Dreibrand," a man whispered with a western accent.

Dreibrand sat up with his dagger in his hand. 

"We should talk," the voice suggested in the common western speech.

"Who is there?" Atarek hissed, threatened by the foreign words.

Dreibrand recognized the voice and answered for the man. "Faychan."

"At your service," Faychan said. He slipped close and squatted next to the men.

"Is something happening?" Dreibrand inquired.

"If you want it to happen," Faychan said, keeping to the western language.

"What are you saying?" Atarek growled.

"Come on, Faychan, you know my brother cannot understand you," Dreibrand said.

"You can tell him what I say if you want to," Faychan countered with the unyielding tone of a Kezanada.

Dreibrand listened and Faychan continued, "Your issues with Sandin could be resolved tonight. I and a three or four well-chosen…companions could go visit Sandin before the sun rises."

 "You would go?" Dreibrand said. He displayed just enough curiosity to keep Faychan talking. It was best to hear more of what was on the former Overlord’s mind.

"I would go," Faychan said.

Dreibrand considered the offer. Faychan was an elusive creature, a stalking panther with claws inside padded paws primed to lash and rend. Dreibrand had once witnessed Faychan erupt from the quiet forest and melt into the obscuring cover of the trees. That had been before they negotiated friendship. Dreibrand calculated that Faychan just might be able to reach Sandin.

Atarek pestered Dreibrand to interpret, but Dreibrand made him be patient. Still speaking the western language, Dreibrand said, "What is your price?"

"My Lord wounds me," Faychan said.

Amused by Faychan’s pouting, Dreibrand insisted, "You would only put yourself at such risk for a great price."

"I offer to visit your enemy in his dreams because that is what is needed," Faychan said. "I do it to defend Nufal."

"And for no other reward?" Dreibrand pressed.

Growing a bit impatient, Faychan said, "It is in my self-interest. I think that Sandin will attack us. He still has more men, and Shan is not with us anymore."

Dreibrand asked for the latest scout reports. Faychan admitted that the Atrophane camps were quiet but added, "When they see the rys start leaving tomorrow, their lust for our blood could return."

"I believe that some rys will stay," Dreibrand said. "And Sandin will face me tomorrow. He will not miss the chance to personally attack me."

Faychan made a skeptical noise, but, because he knew very little about Sandin, he could not argue against Dreibrand’s judgment of the man.  

Staying practical, Faychan said, "But why risk injury tomorrow when I can remove him? The Atrophane are far from home, exposed, terrorized by Shan to the limits of sanity. They are vulnerable. Quietly remove their failed leader and take the reins."

Despite the concerns of all those close to him, Dreibrand remained convinced that his plan was the best plan. "I thank you for the offer, Faychan, but an assassination, or even an attempt, would enrage the Atrophane. I might even lose Cevlead." Dreibrand paused before granting Faychan a private detail. "Such a thing has caused troubles for my family in the past. I must take on Promentro in a public and honorable way within the traditions of our noble class. The soldiers will respect that. They will see that I am the superior Atrophane noble worthy of commanding them. Our success depends on that more than ever because Shan is gone."

So, an assassination disgraced your name, Faychan surmised. Although his offer had been refused, the morsel of information about Dreibrand’s family had given Faychan a tantalizing reward. "Then let me disturb your rest no more, Dreibrand. I only wanted to discuss your options, my friend," Faychan said and slipped away.

When Dreibrand plopped back to the ground, Atarek leaned over him and demanded to know what had been said. Dreibrand related the conversation.

"And you refused?" Atarek said. He started to get up with the intention of following Faychan.

Alarmed, Dreibrand hissed, "At, do not be tempted. That would hardly be the right course for ending our censure."

Atarek slumped with disappointment. The thought of Sandin stabbed in the night had tremendous appeal because it was an ignominious end for a military man, but Dreibrand made a good point. Assassination had been the crime of their grandfather and the punishment had been political and economic ruin.

Dreibrand said, "Faychan wants us to be indebted to him. I only got even with him this year. Trust me. I would like to keep it that way."

And you shall have your way, Atarek thought. He said no more and let his brother fall back asleep.

******

When morning came, Dreibrand imagined the boldness of the famous Galmonlay, who had challenged his leader, but the inspiration of old stories waned as the combat drew near. Cold ambition was Dreibrand’s only comfort now, and he would show his strength when the soldiers lined up to watch two men vie for command of them.

Dreibrand draped his armored jacket, helmet, chainmail, and gauntlets over his saddle. A duelist could wear no armor. His brother helped him prepare for the contest. Atarek meticulously wrapped Dreibrand’s hands with strips of cloth, winding the fabric over the knuckles. He took his time. The bindings should enhance the fists without constricting the flesh.

Atarek often paused from his wrapping and looked into Dreibrand’s eyes. The resolute calm that Dreibrand radiated comforted Atarek somewhat. He understood that Dreibrand executed a specific plan, the goals of which went beyond mere primal revenge on Sandin. Atarek tried to have faith that his brother could bring them through this dangerous situation.

"Would you like to come with me when I take this army back to the Empire?" Dreibrand invited casually.

Atarek shrugged. "I better go with you. I really do not think I could trust myself alone with your wife," he said.

Dreibrand resisted his jealousy and discovered that he could smile. They grinned at each other and briefly forgot the serious task ahead. The clouds broke and a warm shaft of morning sun brightened Dreibrand’s camp.

"Ah, I could use some sunshine," Atarek said and lifted his face into light.

"Are you done?" Dreibrand asked, ignoring the weather. Atarek returned his attention to the hand wrapping and secured the loose ends. Dreibrand knocked his fists together, testing the feel of the bindings. He commented to Atarek that he had done a good job.

Atarek muttered thanks without enthusiasm.

"Don’t worry, Brother," Dreibrand said and reached for Atarek’s hands. "I can do this."

Atarek nodded and squeezed his brother’s hands encouragingly. They stood up together when Tytido returned from a meeting with Cevlead.

After a conspicuous look at Dreibrand’s fists, Tytido said, "Cevlead told me that Sandin will meet you on the middle ground in front of Cevlead’s camp."

Dreibrand nodded. He had expected that to be the location. Glancing around at his camp, he said, "You should prepare our men to withdraw."

Tytido appreciated that Dreibrand considered the consequences of failure. According to Dreibrand’s culture, contemplating defeat was a defeat in itself. This contrasted to the western philosophy of facing death in order to overcome the fear of it. Instead of courage through confidence, the westerner found courage through acceptance of all possibilities. Tytido and Dreibrand had often enjoyed discussing this difference in their upbringing. Gradually, Tytido had come to see the merit of Dreibrand’s philosophy, and Dreibrand had learned to temper his confidence when necessary.

"All of us plan to stand with you," Tytido said. He had not neglected to prepare the warriors to withdraw. If Dreibrand lost the duel, their lives would certainly be forfeit unless they could escape. Despite the risk, the Nufalese warriors had decided that caution served their leader the least on this day. "They know that you will win," Tytido added.

Their devotion touched Dreibrand deeply. He was proud to fight for their future, and the responsibility strengthened him. "I am pleased," he said. Pointing toward the middle ground where the duel would take place, Dreibrand instructed Tytido how to place the warriors. The spectators would form a fighting square with fifty people on each side. Dreibrand would be allowed to have his men make two sides of the square, and Sandin’s soldiers would form the other two sides of the fighting square.

"When noon approaches, line up," Dreibrand said. "Sandin and I will enter after the square has been formed."

With the morning to wait, Dreibrand ate breakfast with his brother and Tytido. Then, he went to talk to the rys. He was relieved to learn that two hundred rys soldiers, including Dey, had decided to stay with him. They planned to satisfy their curiosity about foreign lands by joining him on his trip. Since the Empire of the eastern world had taken an aggressive stance, many rys soldiers had decided that it would be logical to go learn about the place and its people.

Dreibrand thanked the rys for their support, and then asked Taf Ila if he had any indication that Shan or Alloi might be returning. The elder rys captain shook his head. No one had detected them.

The sun climbed the sky, and Dreibrand inspected his weapons. The enchantment on his sword made sharpening unnecessary. He still marveled at the perfection of the blade. After numerous battles, it remained free of even a tiny knick. Its unmarred surface was so unlike the spirit of a man after war. His dagger, which was the product of only human crafting, needed attention. Patiently, he sharpened the small blade that had saved his life many times. The dagger had recently sipped of Sandin’s blood, and Dreibrand imagined it drinking deeply.

Next, Dreibrand emptied his pockets and placed his possessions in his saddlebag. Before putting the spyglass away, he used it to locate Sandin. The Darhet’s flags marked his position. Sandin appeared to be keeping his word. His hands had been bound for fighting as well. As Dreibrand watched Sandin removing his accouterments in front of his red tent, he pondered how the challenge had suddenly made them similar men.

Dreibrand turned the spyglass over in his hands and remembered his visits to the rys glassmaker’s house before putting it away.

Very little time remained until the duel. As the men readied themselves to observe the contest, a noticeable hush collected over the camps. Dreibrand imagined how their shouting would erupt once he started trading blows with Sandin. He hoped that they would all cheer for him. The continued absence of Alloi had to be wearing on the Atrophane officers and soldiers. Without her, they had no practical means of attacking Jingten, and already winter was closing the eastern pass. Their future only promised a languishing existence in a freezing frontier.

When Dreibrand’s warriors moved toward the dueling field, Atarek came to wish his brother good luck. Atarek hugged Dreibrand and slapped him on the back. "Let me know if you want any help cutting the life out of that bastard," he offered. "I will be in the front row waiting for your signal."

"I will keep that in mind," Dreibrand said graciously.

After a heavy sigh, Atarek said, "Well, I suppose it is time you started this damn nonsense."

Dreibrand nodded and gestured for Atarek to move on with the others.

With obvious reluctance, Atarek joined Tytido, who saluted Dreibrand before turning away. Kyel had volunteered to carry Dreibrand’s banner to the dueling ground. Although Kyel had suffered a gashed leg in the battle, he limped forward with the flag because he wanted to show how much he supported his leader.

Atrophane soldiers had already begun to form their two sides of the arena, and Dreibrand watched his warriors fill in the other sides of the square. He actually enjoyed watching the enemies moving into orderly position, restrained by tradition.

I am doing the right thing. I would not see these men kill each other anymore, Dreibrand thought.

He looked over to the rys camp. They were wrapping the bodies of their dead for transport to Jingten. With the snowy Rysamand rising in the west, he knew that only rys could attempt the pass this time of year. Snow would already be clogging the narrow road. Although their horses would be at risk, the rys soldiers expected to survive entering their homeland. Even a sudden highland blizzard could not kill a rys.

Dreibrand wondered if Shan had gone back to Jingten but then tried to ignore the empty place in his heart that pined for his rys friend. He could not let it weaken him right now.

Dreibrand unbuttoned his shirt and took it off. Then, he pulled off his undertunic. The cold air made him shiver, but exposing his flesh to the Wilderness cleansed him spiritually. After pausing to enjoy the elemental caress of the breeze flowing through his hair, he tied it into a ponytail.

Next, he unbuckled his swordbelt and grabbed his sword and dagger. Shaking the weapons loose, he let the belt fall.

Dreibrand thought about his family. He was glad that they were not here to see what he was about to do. He hoped that he could win his children a more peaceful existence.

He lingered on the image of Miranda in his mind. Dreibrand was very thankful for the last few years. Miranda was a better companion than he had ever hoped for, and he was gratified to have provided her with a good life. He knew how much it meant to her.

I am ready, he told himself. Aloud, he said, "You were right to hate me, Sandin. I was always meant to take your place."

Dreibrand ran toward the fighting square. The run warmed his muscles and prepared him for combat. He entered the square on a side composed of his warriors. As they parted before his exposed blades, the Nufalese settlers yelled his name. He passed by the green flag of his family and stood on the ground where he would reclaim his place among the Atrophaney elite.

Atarek watched his brother emerge into the fighting area. Stripped to the waist and brandishing his shining sword, Dreibrand appeared worthy of the cheering. Atarek surged with family pride. He noted the long scar on Dreibrand’s torso and marveled at the tenacity with which his brother pursued his ambitions. Dreibrand proved the nobility of their bloodline and was the champion of the House of Veta.

Atarek shouted encouragement to his brother, which started another bout of cheering among the warriors.

Dreibrand saluted the two sides of the square that supported him and then saluted the Atrophaney soldiers who watched silently. He was certain that Sandin seethed with annoyance to see him as the center of attention.

Dreibrand nourished his bravery with the cheering and focused on his brutal task. He deftly spun his sword and thrust the weapon into the turf. Then he threw his dagger into the ground next to the sword.

Tytido, who was unfamiliar with the dueling form, leaned close to Atarek. "What is he doing?" he asked.

"He must leave his weapons at the edge of the square," Atarek explained. "They must begin the duel by fighting with their hands. The object is to beat down your opponent, retrieve your weapons and then kill him. You have to use a weapon to kill but you must initiate combat without them."

"A true physical test then," Tytido said.

Atarek crossed his arms and then uncrossed them. His agitation was eating his nerves like locusts in wheat. "It is just stupid military bullshit," he grumbled.

Dreibrand watched his rival move through the ranks of soldiers with one flagbearer. The Atrophane soldiers began to cheer for their leader, but Dreibrand hoped that it was obligatory.

Sandin presented a very different image of himself when he entered the square. Stripped to the waist, he lacked the lavish garments and armor of his station. Even so, he remained an imposing man. Unsoftened by his privileged life, his trim and muscular physique was a tribute to Atrophaney masculinity. And although he had spent most of his career behind the fighting lines, Sandin Promentro possessed the lethal talents expected of a noble officer.

Impatiently, Sandin tossed his weapons into the ground and strode toward the center of the arena. Dreibrand advanced toward his opponent. With each step, the primal intensity of their contest increased. It was the basic battle for territory and authority that men had waged since the savage depths of human existence.

When they met, they raised their fists and circled each other with light steps. Searching for a chance to strike, they stared at each other with complete devotion to the duel. The situation surprised neither of them. Ever since Dreibrand had joined Lord Kwan’s Horde, their relationship had taken the course toward conflict.

In true Atrophane style, Sandin struck first. He sprang at Dreibrand, eager to crush the challenger and redeem the integrity of his command. Sandin punched high and low with furious speed. He displayed the skills of a man whose training has been guided by many masters.

Dreibrand blocked and dodged. He guarded his body and reserved his energy while studying Sandin’s physical style. Patience rewarded Dreibrand with an opportunity. He slammed a fist into Sandin’s torso with precise force. Sandin slowed because of the blow, and Dreibrand pressed close and grabbed his opponent with a wrestling grip.

Sandin twisted and pulled, trying to break free, but Dreibrand held his bare skin as if he possessed claws. Sandin placed one hand on Dreibrand’s shoulder and seized his jaw with the other hand. He pushed Dreibrand’s head back, and Dreibrand struggled to keep his head from twisting. Muscles rippled in his neck and back, but he could not overcome Sandin’s leverage. Dreibrand relinquished a handhold and punched Sandin in the lower ribs.

The hit forced Sandin back, and Dreibrand followed through with several more punches before Sandin started blocking them. When Sandin recovered his stance, Dreibrand dropped back to reassess. He did not want to waste energy and make himself available for counterblows.

Both men were breathing hard already, and the shouts and cheers of the watching armies were distant to their ears. Summoning the fury he felt for Sandin, Dreibrand recalled old offenses and new ones. Sandin seethed with the desire to destroy his enemy. The disastrous engagement with Shan had smeared his reputation, and he hungered for a glorious victory.

Dreibrand launched a bold offensive, leaping toward Sandin and kicking high. The first kick clipped Sandin’s shoulder and knocked him off balance. Dreibrand spun to build force behind his second kick and aimed for Sandin’s head. Sandin grabbed Dreibrand’s incoming foot and slammed him to the ground.

Even with his head jangling on the hard ground, Dreibrand stayed in control. Because Sandin held his foot, Dreibrand was able to yank Sandin forward with his leg. Sandin fell between Dreibrand’s legs, and Dreibrand flipped on top of him and started beating his face. 

They struggled on the ground, punching and rolling and wrestling out of each other’s pins. The vicious spectacle enthralled its watchers. The stakes were high for the men of Nufal, and they cheered for Dreibrand faithfully. The Atrophane soldiers were astounded and even flattered by the sight of two nobles grappling like starved bears for command. It thrilled them to actually see the Darhet fight like a true warrior, and it was equally intriguing to watch Dreibrand pour all his strength into claiming Sandin’s position.

Whoever won, they would gladly follow him.

Atarek envied his brother. He ached to rush into the arena and assist in the beating. Tytido empathized with Atarek’s difficulty. He wanted to help his friend as well.

The fighters were on their feet again, boxing vigorously. The crowd collectively exclaimed as Dreibrand achieved a solid blow across Sandin’s jaw. Sandin swayed and his fists drooped. Dreibrand tackled him to the ground. He pummeled Sandin until he stopped moving. Dreibrand could barely resist the urge to crush his throat and squeeze every breath out of Sandin. But resisting that crude impulse was part of the Galmonlay challenge. The opponent required a military death at the point of a weapon.

Dreibrand noticed Sandin’s enchanted bracelet. Seeing Sandin adorned with a token of rys power made him furious with jealousy and he throttled Sandin briefly. "Your army is mine, Sandin," he hissed triumphantly. Springing to his feet, Dreibrand sprinted toward his weapons.

The warriors by his weapons beckoned Dreibrand as if he were finishing a race. They shouted with approval and called for the blood of the Darhet. Dreibrand skidded to a stop and plucked his sword from the ground. Turning around, he bent down, retrieved his dagger, and came up running.

Sandin gasped after Dreibrand let him go. He needed air, but his incapacitation had been overplayed. He jumped up and started running toward his weapons.

The Atrophane soldiers resumed cheering for their lord. Sandin armed himself but waited for Dreibrand to come to him. Despite his eagerness, Dreibrand slowed. He had not expected Sandin to rise so quickly, and he regretted not breaking the rules and strangling Sandin completely.

Unwilling to wind himself for Sandin’s convenience, Dreibrand stopped altogether. He decided to goad his opponent with humiliation. "Come on, Sandin!" he shouted. "Do not make me chase you!"

Sandin seethed when mocked in front of his soldiers. He would make Dreibrand pay for that one. Sandin looked across the dueling ground and spotted Atarek in the front row.   

With his typical arrogance, Sandin sauntered toward his opponent, circling to the left, which placed him between Dreibrand and the Nufalese warriors. He gestured invitingly with his weapons as if they were merely engaging in some friendly sparring.

Dreibrand decided that he had allowed Sandin to make his contemptuous display long enough. It only gave Sandin an opportunity to rest. Dreibrand approached his opponent. Sandin’s bloody lips and puffy eye begged Dreibrand to do more damage. With a war cry, Dreibrand lifted his sword and charged. Armed with perilous steel, the fighters meshed into a single machine of swirling blades. One bad move or slow block would mean death now.

Their weapons clanged with rapid hammering reminiscent of a weaponsmith’s shop. Although Sandin gave ground, Dreibrand did not draw blood. Sandin seemed to be backing up purposefully, and Dreibrand wondered if Sandin played the defensive in order to tire him. Dreibrand thought it was a peculiar strategy because he had no doubt that his endurance exceeded Sandin’s stamina.

Dreibrand drew deeply upon his fighting skills, commanding his mind and body to remember every battle, every move, every victory. He lunged at Sandin boldly and stopped the Darhet’s blade with only his dagger. While Sandin’s sword was stymied, Dreibrand lashed at the man’s torso. Sandin jumped back and twisted away from the attack, but the swordpoint tore open his left pectoral. Sandin cried out, and Dreibrand hacked again with his sword. Left with no option, Sandin threw himself backward to avoid the stroke that could have cut him in half.

Dreibrand pounced, hoping to skewer Sandin, but Sandin followed through on his fall, somersaulted backward, and came up on his feet. Inspired by the blood flowing down Sandin’s chest, Dreibrand pressed in hard with another attack. They parried each other’s blows, and Sandin continued to give ground.

Atarek watched the fighters nearing him. Discreetly he pulled a knife as Sandin’s back edged closer.

Tytido whispered, "Dreibrand has wounded him. He will win."

Atarek nodded but he did not put his knife away.

Dreibrand felt that he was weakening his opponent, but in his sudden surge of confident bloodlust, he moved too recklessly. After blocking a sword stroke, Sandin was able to backhand Dreibrand on the side of the head. The blow scattered Dreibrand’s vision and he stepped back in a completely defensive posture. Sandin then threw his dagger. It landed in Dreibrand’s right pectoral and stuck.

Dreibrand yelled indignantly. Sandin laughed at his rival’s pain and dismay. Dreibrand took another step back and faltered as he coped with the shock that stampeded through his body.

Frantic to distract Sandin from his wounded brother, Atarek broke from the line.

"Your wife is a whore, Promentro. She moaned in my arms and begged for more," Atarek yelled.

The heckling snared Sandin, who whirled to face Atarek. Sandin had merely meant to kill Dreibrand in front of Atarek as a bonus bit of cruelty, but perhaps he would have to reverse the order of the Veta brothers’ deaths.

Tytido panicked and lunged after Atarek. When Tytido tried to shove Atarek back to the line, Sandin swiped at Tytido, who jumped aside and awkwardly deflected the flat of the sword with his gauntlet-protected hand. Sandin thrust at him again and caught Tytido in the armpit where no armor protected the flesh. At the same moment, Atarek attacked Sandin, who ducked to avoid Atarek’s knife, squatted, and thrust his sword upward beneath the bottom edge of Atarek’s armor. Sandin removed the blade as fast as he put it in. The penetration of steel into flesh had been expertly brief. Although Sandin enjoyed the abrupt confusion on Atarek’s face, he spun away from the teetering elder Veta because Dreibrand required the same treatment.

The image of Tytido and Atarek engaging Sandin had entered Dreibrand’s brain, but he had not processed what was happening. He remained completely focused on killing Sandin, and he knew the moment had come. With his left hand, Dreibrand threw his dagger, which caught Sandin in the stomach when he turned around. Now that he had a free hand, Dreibrand pulled the dagger from his chest and advanced on his quarry.

Pain altered Sandin’s features. He struggled to react despite the erupting pain in his vitals, but his body failed to produce a defense. Dreibrand did not hesitate nor offer quarter. He leaped toward Sandin and kicked him across the chest, which knocked him down. Dreibrand then shoved his sword into the heart of his enemy, lifted the blade, and hacked Sandin with two triumphant strokes.

Dreibrand shouted a victory cry. He gave voice to his ascendancy and vented the terrible emotions that had carried him to power on the strong current of his human will. 

10. Tribute to the War God

Dreibrand’s exultation ended as his heaving lungs gasped for air. Sweat streamed down his shoulders and back, and his body steamed in the cold. He leaned over and let his sword slide from his hand. Blood rained onto his pant leg from his wound, but the sight of Atarek and Tytido sprawled nearby distracted him.

Dreibrand stumbled to his brother. With trembling legs, he collapsed next to Atarek. "What are you doing?" Dreibrand asked.

"I made a mistake, Brother," Atarek said, and when he clutched the brown grass, his bloodied hips and thighs penetrated Dreibrand’s perception.

Wide-eyed with denial, Dreibrand shook his head. He had to be hallucinating. How could Atarek have gotten hurt? When Tytido moaned nearby, the events clicked in Dreibrand’s head. He had seen Sandin strike at them.

"Are you all right?" he asked stupidly.

Atarek lifted his head and blood spilled over his lips. Dreibrand cried out weakly and touched Atarek’s mouth as if he intended to put the blood back in the body. Atarek let his head fall back to the cold ground. Dreibrand put his hand over Atarek’s wound, and the hot wetness of the blood terrified him. The blood continued to flow. The wintry air pulled delicate steam from the leaking torso.

Dreibrand’s warriors had rushed forward with delight for his victory, but dismay stalled their advance.

Dreibrand shouted to them desperately. "Get a rys who can heal! Get a rys healer!"

Men reacted to his wretched plea for help. Warriors turned and ran toward the rys camp.

"Dreiby," Atarek said. His voice already sounded far away.

Dreibrand bent close to him and promised that help was on the way. He babbled to his brother about surviving bad wounds. He would be all right.

With a sterner tone, Atarek whispered "Dreiby, stop lying to me."

"Atarek!" Dreibrand moaned and seized his hand. "What were you doing?"

"You were hurt. Wanted to help…" Atarek started to gag and he twisted with pain. "Stupid," he added when he could speak again.

Dreibrand began to tear at the bindings on his hands. He wanted them so he could bandage his brother, but the tight bindings stymied his panicked fingers. He snarled with frustration.

Atarek feebly reached up and stopped his brother’s fumbling. The pleading pain in his eyes compelled Dreibrand to stop and listen. "Dreibrand, you were always the heir of our House.   So much better than me," Atarek said.

"No!" Dreibrand cried passionately.

"Too late to discard that ego now, Brother," Atarek said, even mustering a smile. "You are the Veta heir."

"Shut up, Atarek," Dreibrand ordered. "I will get you help." He looked around for the rys. The time since requesting help was immense in Dreibrand’s mind, but only seconds had passed.

Atarek continued, "Glad I came to see you. Missed you."

The dire reality of Atarek’s wound demanded that Dreibrand calm himself. He would not waste his brother’s last moments with hysterics. "Atarek, I am sorry," he said. "I was so resentful and jealous of how Mother and Father loved you. I should have been better. You gave me everything you could, and I was awful."

"I forgive you. I always did," Atarek said generously. "And thank you for the last few months. You made it possible for me to live free of censure. Not since I was a little boy…I had forgotten…how it felt."

Throes wracked his body again. Dreibrand held him, wishing that he could at least stop the pain.

When Atarek stopped moving, he drew a breath. Only Dreibrand heard his last words. "Tell Madame Fayeth that I love her."

Dreibrand’s shriek of grief was the antithesis of his victory cry. He threw himself back from his brother’s body, propelled by an explosion of helpless rage. He wanted to escape the horror of his brother’s immobile form but he could not stop looking at him. Dreibrand watched a man stoop next to Atarek and check for his pulse. He looked up at Dreibrand without any hope to offer. 

"Atarek," Dreibrand shouted, but Atarek’s blue eyes looked no longer upon the world.

The vacant shell of his brother consumed Dreibrand’s world. This was the price for defying the Empire. This was the punishment that Dreibrand had never understood. Atarek had watched the blood of their grandfather spill on the altar of Atrophaney justice, and Atarek had shunned all ambition.

I have lost my brother! Dreibrand thought, and he loathed every trace of his desire for power. Coveting Sandin’s position had led him to this tragedy. Dreibrand had never truly estimated the prices of his plots.

He yelled incoherently and tore at the dead grass with unbearable fury. Tytido called to him. Two warriors had helped Tytido sit up, and despite his wound, he wanted to help of his unfortunate friend. Beyond consolation, Dreibrand did not even register Tytido’s concern.

Dreibrand seized his sword and lurched to his feet. Screaming, he hacked at Sandin’s carcass, venting the ugly animal insanity that could not be placated. But wanton mutilation of his defeated rival provided no comfort and Dreibrand ceased the cutting, sickened by the action. Looking up, he saw the Atrophane soldiers swarming toward him. The approaching mass of soldiers reminded Dreibrand of the purpose of the duel. Although he now regarded his ambition as his brother’s bane, he could not fail to attain his goal. Everything still depended on achieving success in the next few moments even if Dreibrand ceased to care.

Gods! I must command them, he thought. His responsibility to his loyal followers lashed his mind until he could function.

He stalked toward the Atrophane soldiers fearlessly. They were his and he would claim them. 

Lieutenant Rearden reached Dreibrand first. He looked at Sandin’s body, appalled by the sight. Rearden had no need to confirm the death of the Darhet.

"Your men interfered!" Rearden shouted at Dreibrand. "The duel was violated."

Crazed by adrenaline, Dreibrand grabbed Rearden by the chinstrap of his helmet. He aimed the officer’s face at Sandin’s body and growled in his ear, "Choose which lord you will serve."

Rearden felt the damp blade of Dreibrand’s sword pressed against the back of his neck. Only the bedraggled locks of his long brown hair separated the blade from his skin. The lieutenant decided to recognize Dreibrand’s victory.

Dreibrand released Rearden. "I am your Lord General!" he shouted to everybody. "I claim Promentro’s authority."

Dreibrand returned to Sandin’s body. He kicked the dead man’s sword disrespectfully and stooped to claim the golden wristband that hung from the bloody arm. The bracelet slipped off Sandin’s wrist easily because the enchanted metal had retracted from the dead flesh.

Living light still shone from the smooth white crystal, and it tickled Dreibrand’s mind. He looked away from the crystal quickly. Even during the brief connection, he had experienced release from his unbearable grief, which warned him that deception was one of the bracelet’s greatest charms. He clipped the bracelet over the waistband of his pants and stood up.

Boldly, Dreibrand walked into the midst of the gathered Atrophane. They stepped aside from his path. His bare bloody chest seemed impervious to any threat. The seizure of power went undisputed.

Dreibrand kicked over Sandin’s flag that had been planted by the dueling ground and demanded to be shown Promentro’s possessions. Cevlead pushed his way through the shocked crowd and intercepted Dreibrand.

"I will show you," the commander said. He rushed ahead of Dreibrand but glanced back often. Cevlead led Dreibrand toward the other flags that hung limply beside the late Darhet’s tent.

The remnants of the Atrophane army watched in awe as Dreibrand entered the heart of their group. Dreibrand Veta had shown himself to be the stronger lord and serving the Lord of Nufal appeared to be the best option in his harsh haunted land. Although men of a violent trade, the soldiers had never expected to witness such a brutal transition of power.

When the red tent of the Darhet was close, Dreibrand rushed past Cevlead. A man in the uniform of a squire kneeled in front of the tent with his back to Dreibrand. 

"Squire, show me your master’s personal items!" Dreibrand shouted.

The squire did not move. Dreibrand shoved his shoulder to get a response, but the young man fell over. Upon seeing his lord die, Recey had rushed back to the camp and sliced open his forearms.

Cevlead cussed when he saw the drained squire, who had only a few moments of life left. Even Dreibrand, who was already profoundly traumatized, grimaced at the sight. He could not imagine a servant committing suicide over losing Sandin.

Disgusted, he stepped around the dying squire and tore open the tent. Ducking inside the trembling fabric, Dreibrand disliked the heavy presence of Sandin within the small shelter.

The squire had neatly laid out Sandin’s clothing on the bedding when his master went to the duel. Dreibrand rummaged among the clothes carelessly, tossing them aside after inspection. An inside pocket of a quilted silk jacket produced a bundle of three letters. The first one was written by Carfu. Dreibrand remembered the lieutenant, who had been Sandin’s crony. Dreibrand did not bother to read it. He stuffed it haphazardly into a pocket. Crushed by a fresh layer of pain, he paused when he saw the second letter. He recognized Atarek’s handwriting above the crackled seal.

Their parents had never been contacted. The letters had been intercepted by Sandin as Dreibrand had predicted.

Swallowing back the tumor of sorrow in his throat, Dreibrand peeked at the last letter. His handwriting addressed the violated note. Dreibrand dreaded the revised letter he would have to send to his parents now.

Dreibrand finished searching the clothes without finding what he sought.

The swordbelt, he thought suddenly and spun out of the tent. He tried to avoid looking directly at the expired squire.

"Get him out of here," Dreibrand snapped at Cevlead and pointed at the corpse.

The commander called over a couple soldiers to haul the squire away.

Before his devoted departure, Recey had hung his lord’s armor properly. He traveled with a folding wooden rack that he used to keep the chestplate off the ground. The jeweled helmet capped the top of the rack. Dreibrand smacked the armored treasure to the ground. The heavy swordbelt of the Darhet draped the shoulders of the armor and Dreibrand snatched it wantonly. Swift and thorough as a badger gleaning a log of termites, he scoured the small pockets that lined the heavy belt.

Dreibrand cried out. Locating the precious item brought him no relief. He squeezed the jade stallion ring tight in his hand and said his brother’s name. Dreibrand could not bring himself to put it on.

He decided to return the ring to Atarek. It belonged to his brother. With irrational urgency, Dreibrand raced back to Atarek’s body as if he carried an elixir that would resurrect him.

The Nufalese warriors cleared away as Dreibrand returned to his brother. They radiated a great sympathy for him.

Several rys soldiers had joined the group to offer their healing magic, and Dey was treating Tytido. Atarek, however, remained untouched, sprawled on the plains in his death pose. Disrespect had not caused the inaction, but rather, everyone automatically judged that moving the body would be unwise at this time.

Dreibrand was impervious to those around him. Falling to his knees next to Atarek, he shuddered from the pain. The utter loss pounded his victory like a condemned prisoner being stoned to death. Every drop of Atarek’s blood spilled upon Nufal tainted Dreibrand’s dreams for his new kingdom.

He spoke to his brother, telling him that he had brought the jade stallion ring. Dreibrand unclenched his hand. The ring had left an indentation in the bloodstained cloth bindings. Dreibrand pulled the glove off Atarek’s left hand. His shattered reason had latched onto the concept of returning the ring to his brother, but actually touching the dead flesh dragged Dreibrand away from any purpose. Shaking with self-loathing despair, Dreibrand hunched over Atarek, still clinging to the hand.

Dreibrand derived no comfort from the thought of burying his brother with the ring. Atarek would not have wanted it looped around his rotting finger. The ring was meant to be worn by a living Veta. Baner had sent it from his cell the day before the execution, even knowing that his family was ruined.

Dreibrand heard someone say his name. He snarled nastily for the person to go away.

"My Lord, you are hurt. Let us see you," Faychan said. He took another cautious step closer.

Gulang was behind him, carrying Dreibrand’s clothes and armored jacket.

Dreibrand closed his hand tightly over the ring, as if thieves had come to snatch it. He did not grasp what Faychan had said. The blood flowing from his chest was irrelevant.

Genuine concern for Dreibrand motivated Faychan to help him as well as the need to keep the new Lord General functioning during this unexpected stress.

"Dreibrand," Faychan said. "You are not alone. Let us…"

"NO!" Dreibrand yelled. He would accept no comfort. He deserved eternal punishment for getting his brother killed.

Faychan focused on the vulnerability beneath the hostility. He edged closer. "I will help you tend Atarek. What shall I do?"

His calm inquiry for direction did not elicit another rage from Dreibrand. Hanging his head, Dreibrand mumbled something under his breath. Faychan dared to touch his shoulder. Dreibrand tensed but did not strike. A quick signal from Faychan drew Gulang closer. The loyal warrior placed the shirt over Dreibrand’s back. Dreibrand needed to be covered even if he was heedless of the cold.

"You are stabbed, Dreibrand," Faychan said. He used a very calm voice. While aiding many injured and even hysterical comrades over the years, Faychan had developed a soothing tone that penetrated disturbed mental states.

Dreibrand went blank. He sank utterly into his grief, staring at Atarek with unblinking eyes as dead as his brother’s eyes. In such a state, he submitted to Faychan’s exam like a child having his face washed by his mother. Dey, who had been nominated the rys soldier with the best healing skills during the aftermath of the battle, came to treat Dreibrand. The rys cauterized the chest wound with a heat spell. The sudden intense pain jolted Dreibrand back into the larger world. He groaned and tried to touch his chest, but the rys kept his hand away.

Using the western speech, Dey told Dreibrand that his lung had been punctured and that he should lie down. The rys then warned him that a surgery was necessary to release fluid from the chest cavity.

Dreibrand processed the information. The heaviness in his chest confirmed the rys’s report, but Dreibrand could not rest, not yet.

"Get me some tah," he ordered.

The rys frowned, and Faychan said, "It might be too strong in your condition. Your exhaustion, the blood loss. The stress from the drug would be bad."

"I need it," Dreibrand stated.

Despite the risk, Faychan accepted that Dreibrand had to keep moving in this critical time. "I will administer the dose," Faychan said firmly. 

Dreibrand voiced no objection. The rys started bandaging his chest while Faychan went to get the vial of tah from Dreibrand’s saddlebag. When he returned, he lifted the tiny bottle to Dreibrand’s lips.

"Just drink what I give you. Do not try to get more," Faychan directed.

Faychan tipped the vial quickly, dashing a small amount of liquid into Dreibrand’s mouth. If Tytido had seen the lifelong Kezanada giving Dreibrand the volatile drug, he would have been alarmed.

Dreibrand swallowed the minor sip, and immediately took a deep breath as the drug prodded his beaten body. The pain in his lung flashed briefly before being numbed. Fatigue cleared from his mind, and the awful grief took a small step back from his heart.

Braced against the pain by the tah, Dreibrand pulled on his under tunic. Then Faychan held up his shirt and Dreibrand groped for the sleeves. With the tah charging through his veins, he still did not feel the cold, but he intended to make himself presentable to his newly acquired army.

"Give me the vial," he instructed grimly.

"I will hold it for you," Faychan said.

"Damn you, it is mine," Dreibrand said.

"I will return it later," Faychan said. "You know that I am right."

Agreement flickered through Dreibrand’s mind as he recalled the caution with which tah had to be used. An injured man could kill himself by continually seeking relief from the rys potion.

Still clenching the ring, Dreibrand fumbled with his shirt buttons. He had to concentrate to complete the precise task. After closing his shirt, he thought to thank the rys for the healing. Dey nodded graciously and helped his patient to stand.

Gulang held Dreibrand’s armored jacket for him and Dreibrand inserted his body back into its protective case. As the heavy plates settled over his shoulders, Dreibrand coughed. Even aided by tah, pain erupted through his chest. Another warrior had retrieved Dreibrand’s gauntlets, helmet, and swordbelt. Dreibrand shoved the ring into a pocket of his pants and accepted his gear.

While buckling on his belt, Dreibrand noticed the bracelet that he had tucked in his waistband. He took it out but only looked at the crystal’s flickering white light through the corner of his eye. He resisted the urge to slide the bracelet onto his wrist and instead placed it conspicuously onto his swordbelt near the buckle.

Dreibrand slipped his sword neatly into its scabbard and told Faychan to gather their warriors. He needed to address the Atrophane army and he wanted his Nufalese men to be positioned behind him.

Next, Dreibrand advanced on the Darhet’s body and retrieved his ivory handled dagger from the stomach of his vanquished rival. He pondered the corpse. Blood spattered Sandin’s face, and his blank eyes no longer beamed with arrogance. Sandin was just another mangled man, spat out of the insatiable maw of war. Tribute to the war God Golan.

Dreibrand wiped the freezing blood from his dagger onto the dead prairie grass. When it was reasonably clean, he returned it to his belt. Stiffly, Dreibrand stood back up and saw Rearden standing there. The face of the young lieutenant expressed his revulsion.

Dreibrand would test his loyalty now with unwelcome orders. He waited for the lieutenant to salute. Rearden actually obliged his new lord by dropping to one knee. Accepting the ascension of the censured noble, however, came to the officer with difficulty, and even as he kneeled, he considered ordering the army to attack the Nufalese followers of Dreibrand. It seemed the proper course of action, but Rearden had sensed that the soldiers lacked animosity toward Dreibrand. The story of how Dreibrand had saved them from the vicious magic of King Shan was spreading quickly.

"You may rise, Lieutenant," Dreibrand said. "Relay my orders that mass graves should be dug. The ground has only begun to freeze, which means that we can still accomplish a proper covering for our fallen." As Dreibrand spoke, he thought about burying his brother. It was an ugly abstraction in his mind. He had never imagined that his beloved Wilderness would inter Atarek.

Pointing to Sandin, Dreibrand added that the former Darhet should be buried with the others.

"A noble in a mass grave?" Rearden asked with shock.

"He can share the fate he inflicted on his men with his foolish campaign," Dreibrand snarled. He took a step closer. "And if you question me one more time, Rearden, I will put you in the ground with him."

A venomous flash in Rearden’s eyes revealed his opinion of the threat, and Dreibrand had to wonder what methods would be best for bringing this hostile officer under control.  

"Assemble the soldiers. I will address the army," Dreibrand added.

Rearden hesitated. Although filled with dislike for the killer of his rightful lord, he lacked the means of defying Dreibrand. Rearden could not assume that Alloi would return to rally the Atrophane back to their original purpose. He saw her great gift of power to the Darhet on Dreibrand’s belt. It was now only a trinket among Dreibrand’s trophies.

"Yes, Lord," Rearden said tersely. He flicked a salute at Dreibrand and stomped away.

The Atrophane army responded to the call of its commanders to form ranks. The soldiers had been standing around in disorderly clumps discussing the bewildering events. They marveled at the intensity of the duel, and its bizarre conclusion. They speculated about the consequences of Sandin’s death within the Empire and Dreibrand’s intentions. No one could say what had happened to Alloi, but few remained hopeful of her return. She clearly had been unable to stop the terrible counteroffensive of the rys King. It seemed likely that she had been carried off to some wretched death, and only Dreibrand Veta remained to offer them any protection from the undefeatable King Shan.

Dreibrand mounted his black colt so that he could address his soldiers from a higher level. Only seven hundred of his Nufalese warriors remained, but they stood behind their lord with great pride in his victory.

Dreibrand coughed, hating the damage in his chest that would impair his speaking voice. He wanted another sip of tah but knew that Faychan would rightly insist that it was too soon.

Dreibrand had rehearsed his speech in his head over many days. He hoped that it would be worthy of being repeated so that all would hear his message.

"Brave Atrophane soldiers," he began, striving against the sting in his lung. "I shall explain my reasons for challenging Sandin Promentro, but I suspect that in your hearts that the reasons are plain enough. He promised you the riches of Jingten, but instead you received heavy losses in a cold hard land. I knew Sandin. I served with him under the great Lord Kwan, and despite my differences with Sandin, I knew him to be an intelligent man, and a man who well understood the peril of entering a conflict with rys. All of you have seen the power with which the King of Jingten defends the Rysamand. Tempet and Alloi deluded you into thinking that the rys could be defeated. I challenged Sandin in order to end his senseless campaign. He had clearly lost his powers of reason and had become a menace to you. On the field of honor, I meted out the punishment that Sandin deserved for his misuse of command. My noble station granted me the right to correct him.

"I regret the lives that we have taken from each other in recent battle. I proclaim peace between you and the warriors of Nufal. They came forth to give battle because you invaded. Understand that I, a noble Atrophane, have founded settlements in this land. Atrophane has no need to conquer this place. Any person who wishes to live here or do business here is welcome to do so, but it shall be done in a peaceful manner.

"Now that I have claimed the Lord Generalship of this army, I will return you to imperial territory. Then as the leader of Nufal, I shall ask the Empire to negotiate a treaty that will allow both lands to coexist in peace and prosperity.

Dreibrand paused in order to let the pain caused by his diaphragm shoving on his lungs subside. When he continued, he made his most crucial point. "The Empire is obligated to provide you with your base pay. I see no reason that you should not get it. However, I will make a list of those men present here, and, when we return to the Bosta Territory, I will provide you with a bonus payment. Consider it a gratuity from me for accepting the truce that was so needed yesterday."

The soldiers whispered the news back through the ranks. The promise of a bonus brightened them after their fruitless and tragic journey.

Rearden stepped forth from the ranks. "And how does Dreibrand of the ruined House of Veta expect to pay such an army?" he challenged in order to test the rumor of Dreibrand’s wealth. Perhaps Dreibrand could be exposed as a fraud and the sympathies of the soldiers would fall away from their usurper.

Pointing to the snowy peaks of the Rysamand, Dreibrand said, "Fighting in western wars, I won a vast treasure. The coffers of my House now rival all the Clans and Houses of Atrophane, and I shall be generous with you, soldiers of Atrophane. The treasures that Sandin promised you, I already possess. You are far better off serving me."

Dreibrand swept his gaze over the ranks. The men looked back at him thoughtfully. He rode toward Rearden and stopped in front of the antagonistic officer.

"Any more questions, Lieutenant?" Dreibrand asked.

"No," Rearden said.

Dreibrand studied the hate revealed in the lieutenant’s blue eyes. It would be easy to hate Rearden and dispose of him, but Dreibrand no longer wanted to hate anybody except himself.  

"You have your orders," Dreibrand said and withdrew into the midst of his warriors.

Slowly, he dismounted. Each breath stabbed his right lung as if the knife were plunging in over and over. Dey was waiting to speak to him.

"You are a great human lord, but you need more help," the rys said. He recognized that human will and tah would not sustain Dreibrand indefinitely.

"Must this be done?" Dreibrand said, glancing around cautiously.

"What does your body tell you?" Dey said.

"My mind says that I must wait," Dreibrand said. Although he believed that the procedure to drain the fluid had to be done, he feared the incapacitation. It would have to be done in secret. The Atrophane soldiers had to believe in his strength.

Tytido, he thought with an abrupt slap of guilt. He had not checked on his friend. He asked Dey if he knew where Tytido was. Dey had helped Tytido earlier and led Dreibrand to his friend. As they walked together, Dey took special care to move slowly. He used his essential rys grace to casually mask Dreibrand’s ragged gait.

Tytido rested among the wounded. They were lined up closely in order to benefit from each other’s body heat. Dey hung back while Dreibrand worked his way through the injured toward Tytido. The warrior on the left of Tytido was able to scoot over a bit and make room for Dreibrand.

A light spell of sleepiness had comforted Tytido earlier, but his eyes fluttered open when Dreibrand squatted beside him. Miserable with guilt, Tytido shrank from his friend. "I am sorry. I tried to stop him and protect him," he said.

 "What happened?" Dreibrand asked.

Tytido recounted how Atarek had pulled his knife when Sandin came close. "I told him that you would win," Tytido insisted. "But when you were hurt, I think he simply reacted."

"Do not blame yourself, Tytido," Dreibrand said in a choked voice. "How badly are you hurt?"

"It is a deep flesh wound. Cut my muscles under my arm," Tytido replied.

"I am thankful that you were not hurt worse," Dreibrand said.

Considering how Dreibrand already suffered from terrible loss, Tytido appreciated that Dreibrand was still able to show concern for him. "Dreibrand, I am so sorry about Atarek. I could tell that you loved him," Tytido said.

Dreibrand’s face sank into his hands. Tytido expected to hear him sob.

Keeping his eyes hidden, Dreibrand said, "Tytido, this is the hardest thing."

The futility of comforting words stymied Tytido. He sensed that Dreibrand would be changed after this day.

"Dreibrand, it is not your fault," Tytido said, trying to guide Dreibrand toward some hope.

"Yes, it is!" Dreibrand hissed. He pulled his hands down. His eyes were dry but wild light lurked inside them, as the fire of his guilt began to spread.

Physical duress overtook Dreibrand’s mental misery. He coughed painfully and then panted for breath. He could not ignore his condition much longer.

"Tytido," he said painfully. "Will you be able to move at all tonight? I need you."

"For you, I can," Tytido said, motivated by Dreibrand’s strained breathing and pale face.

In a low voice, Dreibrand explained that he would occupy Sandin’s tent. Using the official shelter would be meaningful to the Atrophane. The tent would also provide the cover he needed for the treatment that his wound required. He described what Dey intended to do.

"I want this to be secret. No one else must know that I will be so vulnerable tonight," Dreibrand said. He shuddered through another cough, trying to stop the spasm that lanced him with pain. When he was able to speak again, he said, "Tytido, find some men that you trust and send them to get the treasure that I need to take south."

"Yes, I will," Tytido said, already knowing who he would ask to retrieve the gems that Dreibrand had stashed outside of Vetanium.

"Come to me when the sun goes down," Dreibrand instructed. "I will be in the Atrophane camp. I must spend much time with them from now on. Help our people to understand."

"They do, Dreibrand," Tytido said. "They know that you gather our enemy to your greatness for our benefit."

"I do not want any one else to die," Dreibrand said as if he were reciting a difficult lesson.

Peace did not come soon enough for Atarek, Dreibrand thought. The grief tore at him, making his wound meaningless.

The need to attend to his brother’s body gave Dreibrand the strength to rise. He plodded to the place where he had camped the night before. Atarek’s saddle and bedroll were still there. Dreibrand remembered the touch of Atarek’s hands as he had bound his fists for the fight.

Slowly, Dreibrand gathered the bedroll and Atarek’s few possessions. After he stood, he paused to watch the rys soldiers departing with the bodies of their fallen. The line of white horses moved toward the Rysamand, ready to brave the highland snows and leave behind the madness of the lower world.

Dreibrand turned toward the east and observed an Atrophaney work crew outlining an area to begin their digging. The Tabren Mountains oversaw the work and Dreibrand dared to hope that it would be the last mass grave dug in Nufal.

After retrieving his bedroll as well, Dreibrand headed toward his brother with the shrouding materials. He felt a fear worse than charging a steadfast line of infantry. The reality of Atarek’s passing would have to be confronted.

Men and rys were mindful to stay back from Dreibrand as he prepared Atarek for burial. No one wanted to see the tears that streaked their leader’s face. Dreibrand wrapped his bedroll around Atarek. He hoped that the warmth from his body that had seeped into the blanket on many nights would reach Atarek’s spirit.

Dreibrand would not be needing the simple old blanket. He would be claiming the trappings of the late Darhet. Dreibrand had taken Sandin’s life, army, and tonight he would take to his bedding even if the prospect repelled him. In a few weeks, he would take Sandin’s fort. Beyond that, Dreibrand was not sure. He had plans but his grieving mind could not fathom them now.

Before closing the blanket around Atarek, Dreibrand put Atarek’s sword and knife over his chest and placed his brother’s cold hands on the weapons. Dreibrand arranged Atarek’s hair nicely and cleaned the dirt from his face. After a thoughtful pause, Dreibrand tucked Atarek’s flask into the hand with the knife. He then used Atarek’s blanket to wrap him in a final layer.

"At, you should not have joked so much about dying," Dreibrand scolded. After a shaky sigh, he continued, "I take up now that which burdened your heart. I have learned the lesson impressed on you at a tender age. I should have listened when you admonished me. We could be in Atrophane now, going to some party I suppose. Wasting our lives in amusement. Letting the Empire have its power."

Dreibrand’s vision blurred. He wiped the tears from his eyes and dabbed the moisture onto Atarek’s face.

The task was becoming too difficult. Dreibrand had to break away. An abundance of distraction surrounded him. The delicate state of the peace and the wound in his chest demanded his attention. Even with Atarek gone, his people still depended on him.

"Tomorrow," he whispered and slowly backed away.

11. A Vulnerable Beginning

When Dreibrand walked away from his brother, the image of Atarek’s shrouded body clung to his mind and dragged him to a stop. Grasping at the crumbling precipice of his grief, Dreibrand squatted and held his face in despair.

Faychan came to his side, and without saying anything, he offered a comforting presence.

Eventually, Dreibrand spoke. "Place guards on him tonight. Find men to dig his grave deep, so that animals will not dig him up."

"Yes, of course," Faychan said.

Dreibrand stood up like a man facing a sentencing. "Keep the peace here tonight. I want no trouble starting with anybody. I will be in the Atrophane camp."

"I have warriors waiting to attend you," Faychan said.

Dreibrand gave him a confused look.

"You must cease to move about without guards," Faychan said with a gently scolding tone.

Dreibrand nodded, grateful for the security. He entered the Atrophane camp with twenty-five warriors assigned to him by Faychan. Sandin’s tent actually looked inviting this time, and Dreibrand wanted to go inside it and collapse on the furs and silk cushions.

He instructed two warriors to take down the Darhet’s remaining flags but to leave the imperial flags in place. Bian confiscated one of the poles and attached his lord’s banner to it.

When Bian raised the Veta banner next to the imperial flags, the act marked a meaningful achievement for Dreibrand, who had been restricted by his censure from ever leading soldiers under his family’s banner. He had always been required to fight under the flags of Lord Kwan and the Empire. But the profound pleasure that Dreibrand had expected from the flagrant display of his family’s re-emerging power was smashed by the awful shock of Atarek’s death. The lurching agony of his emotions was still accounting for the price of success.

The removal of the Promentro flags seemed magically to summon Rearden, who suppressed poorly his dislike for the action.

Grief and pain had begun to slacken Dreibrand’s temper and he thought to mollify the lieutenant somewhat. Making enemies no longer suited him.

"Use these flags to shroud your former lord," Dreibrand said.

Rearden glanced at Sandin’s chestplate that hung on its rack. "And may I bury him with his armor?" Rearden coaxed.

Dreibrand bluntly said no. His generosity toward the mutilated Sandin had definite limits. Dreibrand would give the metal and jewels from the armor to his men as prizes for their loyalty and bravery.

Rearden gathered that he should not argue.

"Lieutenant, please assemble the officers," Dreibrand ordered and gestured vaguely to the trampled ground near the command tent.

Rearden collected the discarded flags and left. While he was away shrouding Sandin and then gathering the officers, Dey came to Dreibrand. The rys led his white horse and carried some gear with the obvious intention of staying through the night. While walking among the Atrophane soldiers, the rys detected their smoldering animosity. He carried himself with perfect confidence though, and no one directly bothered him.

Dreibrand greeted the rys and asked him to wait in the tent. A flicker of impatience crossed Dey’s face, which was a rare expression for a rys.

As the commissioned officers assembled, Dreibrand noted how his warriors gradually moved closer to him. Dreibrand focused on appearing comfortable. He would not let his bodyguards indicate fear. They were a natural extension of any lord, especially during a transition of power.

Dreibrand looked over the officers. When he spotted the occasional cavalry commander, he was reminded of how many had died during the battle. Replacing hard feelings with obedience would take time and great care.

Dreibrand thanked the officers for their attention and praised them for observing Atrophaney tradition on this difficult day. Then, he decided that they deserved an explanation, of sorts, about his presence in Nufal.

"I assume you are all aware of the imperial censure that has been placed on my House," he said. "Because of the prejudice shown me by my equals over the indiscretions of my ancestor, I chose to live in self-imposed exile. As such, I have become the Lord of Nufal." He swept a hand along the eastern horizon. Even through a haze of tragedy, he felt the Wilderness offer him a sympathetic caress. "This is my territory. I do not know if you are aware of this, but the King of Jingten sent a generous peace offer south before your invasion. He, and I, very much wanted to avoid this war. By the Gods, I never wanted to raise arms against you. Overcoming Sandin’s misguided leadership was the least bloody means of stopping hostilities. Now that I have claimed the Lord Generalship, I pledge that my leadership will be wise, just, and beneficial to the interests of both Nufal and the Empire, but understand that you must accept my authority." His voice was stern at the close of his statement. He did not speak for just himself. He spoke for the legacy of his children and the future of every person who came to settle in Nufal.

No one commented. Not even Rearden.

As their leader, Dreibrand chose to be generous. He fixed his eyes onto Cevlead Fanlyre. The commander stood at the end of the front line, and Dreibrand suspected that Cevlead had not won any friends among the officers with his freehanded actions.

"I do not want any of you to think poorly of Lord Cevlead of Clan Fanlyre for the decision he made," Dreibrand said. "He behaved in the interest of his soldiers when he sanctioned my parley with Sandin. You were facing a massacre, and his promotion of a truce saved many men from pointless conflict. If not for his courage, you might be marching toward the Rysamand under Sandin’s banner. Perhaps I would be gone, but surely that action would have drawn the rys King back to punish you further, no doubt completely destroying you."

Dreibrand made the statement with firm certainty although he hoped that Shan had disappeared in a fit of shame for what he had done. Dreibrand then pulled his mind away from speculation about Shan. The ruin of his friendship with the rys King was too much to bear on top of his other loss.

"As for our next course of action, I shall return this army to imperial territory," Dreibrand continued. "You must agree that this is no place to be in the open this time of year, and your original goal of Jingten is truly unattainable. Now, as your new Lord General, I shall comment on the current command structure."

Rearden braced himself for bad news.

"Lieutenant Rearden," Dreibrand said. "I have chosen to recognize the field promotion that my predecessor gave you. I have no reason to doubt that you are a fine officer, deserving of the position."

Rearden blinked with surprise. He felt vaguely guilty for his animosity toward Dreibrand.

"Unless I become displeased with someone’s performance, I plan to make no changes in the existing organization," Dreibrand said. "I can see that we are all exhausted by our unfortunate conflict. Please, go to your rest. We have far to march to get home. Dismissed."

Although the officers were reeling from the unexpected events, Dreibrand had not said anything that a reasonable man could protest. Dreibrand made accepting him easy, and they were too weary with horror and defeat not to accept his guidance. The officers dipped to one knee in a formal bow to their Lord General and then dispersed.

Dreibrand caught Cevlead’s eye and indicated that he should stay. The commander walked over to his new Lord General but did not salute or speak. Still shocked that his actions had actually caused the removal of the Darhet, Cevlead only stared at Dreibrand.

"Come sit with me for a while," Dreibrand said and turned quickly toward the tent. He coughed weakly, unable to quell the spasms of his injured lung any longer.

Cevlead followed cautiously. The bodyguards eyed him with suspicion, and he recognized a couple of them from his stay in Vetanium. When Cevlead entered the tent, he glanced warily at the rys soldier and sat down across from Dreibrand. Enclosed by the tent, Dreibrand retreated mentally and did not register Cevlead’s presence.

After an awkward silence, Cevlead said, "I am sorry about Atarek. I know he did not care for me, but I would have never wished death on him."

His last phrase caused Dreibrand to look up wide-eyed as if Cevlead had just broken the news of Atarek’s passing.

Afflicted with shame for his poor relationship with Atarek, Cevlead confessed, "Lord Dreibrand, I wish that I had behaved better toward your brother. I was rude to him on many occasions."

 So was I, Dreibrand thought, haunted.

Compelled to offer some sort of comfort, Cevlead lapsed into praising the dead. "He was so good to Madame Fayeth. He stood by her and her family. He shamed me into traveling faster because Hanshen needed help." Fanlyre hung his head. "And I resisted him out of pride."

"I wish I could have seen more of that side of him," Dreibrand said vacantly. He put a hand on his ribs, cradling the pain, and abruptly changed the subject. "Do not think that I favor Rearden over you. I would rather keep him in my close service than discard him and give him a greater chance to sow dissension."

"That sounds reasonable," Cevlead said.

The open doors of catatonic grief invited Dreibrand inside. His misery demanded to know why he was being so obtuse and trying to function. Stoically, he told himself that, even crippled by oppressive sorrow, he possessed the strength to do what he must.

He coughed painfully and Dey set a hand on his shoulder.

"Is your concern about Rearden all that keeps you from naming me your lieutenant?" Cevlead asked.

Dreibrand cleared his throat and said that he would indeed like to promote Cevlead but that advancing him so swiftly would foster rumors that he had been bribed all along. Dreibrand added, "Lord Cevlead, in a de facto manner, I shall rely on you as if you were my high lieutenant."

After getting used to the idea, Cevlead said, "I will serve you well, and I agree to let us leave things as they are for now, on the surface."

Dreibrand approved of Cevlead’s judgment and said, "I appreciate your patience, and I will repay you for your help in any way that I can. Would you like to recommend the manner in which you could benefit most? I am sure that you want to control how your rewards are perceived by the others."

Although worried anew by the implications of his actions, Cevlead still believed that he had made the best choice possible. His career had certainly seemed doomed from the beginning under Sandin’s regime.

"Lord Dreibrand, you are thoughtful to so carefully consider my needs," Cevlead said.

"I am always considerate of my friends, Lord Cevlead," Dreibrand said.

Cevlead wanted to believe that Dreibrand’s sentiment was sincere and not simply manipulation. Seeking the confidence of his new Lord General, Cevlead asked Dreibrand if he really believed that Shan still threatened the Atrophane.

Dreibrand showed no offense toward Cevlead’s suspicion that the rhetoric of his speech might have been overblown. With drooping eyes, Dreibrand drew a painful shallow breath and said, "I do not know where Shan is, but he will not ignore the defense of his domain. His displeasure with this invasion could resume at any time."

Cevlead reflected on the meaning of Shan’s displeasure. Knowing beyond a doubt that people harbored souls and that souls were vulnerable to rys magic troubled him on a fundamental level of his being. He preferred faith in existence after death instead of hard evidence. He concluded that even the risk of Shan’s anger was too great a threat.  

Dreibrand asked Cevlead if he wanted to know anything more, and Cevlead asked about Dreibrand’s intentions once he reached imperial territory with the army.

Visibly working through his pain, Dreibrand said, "As I told everybody, I will seek a treaty with the Empire in order to protect Nufal from another invasion. The Empire must understand that the House of Veta has established a new place for itself. But…I do not expect the news to be accepted easily. Right now, I cannot say how this will play out, but I do not want to include you in any imperial displeasure that might come my way. You do not deserve that for helping me. You are an Atrophane noble and I suspect that you did not want to become involved with a censured exile like me."

"It was not my initial vision for my life," Cevlead admitted, but he did not blame Dreibrand. "I recall you offering me a stake in this new kingdom of yours when you first tried to tempt me away from Sandin."

"Yes, that offer stands," Dreibrand said, encouraged by Cevlead’s apparent interest in permanently joining him.

Despite the risks that he had taken, Cevlead decided to be patient before snatching at reward. "I will continue to consider your offer," he said.

"It will be a long trip. Take your time," Dreibrand whispered. With his head drooping a little more with each word, Dreibrand informed Cevlead that he would be retiring until the next morning. "Please keep order in the camp," he concluded breathlessly.

Cevlead agreed enthusiastically but noted Dreibrand’s deteriorating condition.

"Dreibrand," he said, trying some familiarity. "How hurt are you?"

With a gesture to the rys, he said, "Dey will help me. I will be back on my feet tomorrow."

Cevlead suddenly guessed at Dreibrand’s need for discretion about his injury and assured him that he would only tell the men that their lord was resting. As he left the tent, he had to consciously mask his worried expression. He dreaded that the new Lord General, who he had risked quite a good deal to help, might expire soon.

Dreibrand crumpled into the furs with a long moan. His pain erased his dislike for occupying Sandin’s bed.

Dey started undoing the buckles that closed Dreibrand’s armored jacket. "I will be swift and you will feel better," the rys said.

"Wait for Tytido," Dreibrand said feebly.

Dey continued with the buckles. He expected Tytido to arrive soon. Dey had taken the liberty of speaking to Tytido and suggesting that he not wait until evening.

When Dreibrand was ready to move again, the rys helped him out of his jacket and shirt. Only a little bit of blood soiled the bandage on Dreibrand’s chest. Dey, who had only recently begun to learn healing, judged that he had done a good job closing the stab wound. The blood that had drained into the chest cavity before the wound had been sealed was the remaining problem. Dey set his hand on Dreibrand’s chest and concentrated his perception into the body. The rys sought the best place to pierce the body and efficiently drain the fluid.

Dreibrand shut his eyes. He was so tired that he thought he might even sleep despite his discomfort. Dey’s presence comforted him as well. Dreibrand understood that the rys could see inside his body, which gave Dreibrand the courage to undergo the procedure. He was lucky to have a rys to help him, but even amid his gratitude, Dreibrand felt how Dey’s magic lacked the power of Shan’s touch.

Dreibrand moaned softly, missing Shan as he slipped toward delirium.

A strong draft of cold air roused Dreibrand. The tent flap opened and Tytido stooped slowly as he entered. Outside, the light was gray. Clouds had rushed in as if the clear day had been a mistake.

With his arm in a sling, Tytido moved rigidly. He grunted when he sat down. Moving any part of his body aggravated the deep cut under his arm.

Observing Tytido’s condition, Dey lamented privately that he could not have helped the man more. He simply lacked the power to completely knit severed muscle tissue.

"I think it might snow," Tytido commented.

"Uh, better than rain," Dreibrand said, very glad to see his friend. "How are things out there?"

"Weird," Tytido said. "But everyone seems content not to fight. Everyone, men and rys, are in shock."

Dreibrand longed to be out in the camp, among his men, guiding them toward a new way of thinking. The proud Atrophane needed him to soothe the sting of their spoiled campaign against Jingten. He would teach the soldiers to blame Sandin for their failed campaign against Jingten and forgive themselves.  

Dey set a tender hand on Dreibrand’s forehead. Softly he said, "I am sorry that I do not have the skill to block your pain. I will put a spell of sleepiness on you and freeze your body with sho."

Dreibrand nodded with his eyes. He was ready. His consciousness yielded easily to the sleep spell’s pleasant tingle. He only twitched slightly when Dey poked him with a sho dart.

With his patient immobilized, Dey quickly opened his rys-made surgery kit. Shan had stocked several soldiers with the tools necessary to help the human wounded, and Dey had gained ample practice in his new trade in a very short time. He had decided to prepare the items that would pierce Dreibrand’s body at the last moment and spare Dreibrand the sight of them. Heat spells flashed from his fingers as he sterilized his instruments perfectly.

With his scalpel, probe, and tube ready, Dey said to Tytido, "He will probably wake up when I cut into him."

Tytido edged closer to Dreibrand, ready to offer support.

Dey focused his mind on the torso before him. He knew the place he wanted to cut. It was the perfect place. The chest cavity would drain quickly and the damage would be minimal.

Dreibrand made a sharp guttural sound when the procedure began. His eyelids, weighted by sho, could barely open, but he was awake. Tytido grabbed his hand, knowing that the paralysis of sho hid the intense pain that his friend had to be experiencing.

Dey inserted the drain tube and his blue hand flashed toward a cloth. Tytido saw the blood spurt out the tube and soak into the cloth. Dreibrand’s throat gurgled when he took a deeper breath and, responding to the force of his lung, the blood shot out faster and spilled across Dey’s wrist. Dreibrand issued garbled sounds as he tried to speak, but the sho left his lips and tongue useless. Tytido hoped that he was trying to express relief.

The tube stayed in place until only a slight trickle of blood came out. Dey removed it quickly and began closing the incision with his magic. The tiny wound did not bleed at all when he finished. Exhausted after hours of treating men, Dey wiped his hands methodically.

Tytido inspected Dreibrand and was very satisfied by the minimal intrusion of the surgery.

"Does it feel better?" Tytido asked, expecting only a garbled response.

"He is passed out," Dey mentioned.

"The pain?" Tytido said.

The rys shrugged. "And the fatigue," he said.

"Did this help him?" Tytido said.

"Oh, yes," Dey replied confidently. "His chest cavity is drained and his lung will be able to fill with air normally. The blood inside his lung will continue to be a problem, but I expect that he will recover. He is a strong healthy human."

Tytido suggested that they give him some tah to counteract the sho.

"Let it wear off naturally," Dey recommended. "The paralysis will keep him from disturbing the wounds. And he needs the rest."

Tytido could not dispute that. Pitching his voice low, he said, "He fears this vulnerability. We must watch over him."

"And we shall," Dey promised.

After they loaded their sho dart pistols, the rys and Tytido stretched out on each side of Dreibrand. They slept with their swords and pistols in their hands.

12. Alone

We have been in Elendra one week. The great land is quiet around us, but in our hearts, we hear the storms on the distant plains where our men fight. To be brave is all that I can do – Miranda, diary entry from 9th day of Leaffall, Year 5 Nufalese calendar.

 

A gentle snow fell. The subtle sound of snowflakes tickling the forest contrasted pleasantly with the sharp cracking of branches as the women collected firewood.

Miranda adjusted her grip on her bow but kept the arrow nocked against the string. Her cold fingers peeped from fingerless gloves, but the sighting of a fenthakrabi two days earlier demanded that she forego mittens and keep her weapon ready. The women hurried among the trees in a roving circle. A few more women stood watch with bows or spears.

Miranda balanced her vigilance with frequent glances at the settlement overlooking the valley. A premonition pestered her mind today. There would be news.

Her stomach clenched. She feared the message that might come. She feared for Dreibrand.

She calmed her mind by absorbing the beauty of the winter landscape. Recent heavy snows had transformed the leafless forest into a fluffy white world where even a footprint was special. The multitude of tiny icicles dangling from every snow-padded branch and twig disguised the bare trees as chandeliers. Although the wild essence of the forest retained a cold menace, it still possessed a rare tranquility. She dwelled on the difference between the peaceful isolation of her settlement and the trauma of battle that surely engulfed Dreibrand.

With the days growing shorter and the beasts of Nufal getting hungrier, the women efficiently completed their task and headed back to the settlement. Miranda followed them, guarding them from behind because the bundles of sticks across their backs made them vulnerable to a rear attack. When they mounted the switchbacking trail at the foot of the mountain, Miranda turned around. She scanned the forest, expecting to spot a fenthakrabi charging across the spray of footprints that the women had left in the snow. She saw no movement and hurried up the trail after tossing one more warning look through the silent trees.

The steep climb out of the forest warmed the women, and they were cheerful as they entered the old walls of the settlement. Their light banter encouraged Miranda, who hoped that they were adjusting to their upsetting relocation to Elendra.

The women spread out, dropping off loads of wood beside the doors to their shelters before going inside. Sahleen had gathered the wood for the small cabin that she shared with Miranda. She left most of it outside and kept a few sticks to revive the coals in their fireplace. Miranda held the door as Sahleen carried in the wood. Inside the low-ceilinged shelter, the cabin was dark and smoky. After being in the snowy glare most of the afternoon, their eyes took a moment to adjust, but the chorus of greetings from their children reached their ears.

"Oh, wonderful. The fire was just getting low," Madame Fayeth said pleasantly as she stood from the chair by the fire. As an Atrophane in the northern climate for the first time, she had found the cold quite shocking. Even so, the snow had delighted her until it started dripping through a crack in her roof, but watching Lydea and Hanshen have their first snowball fight had helped make up for the distress.

"Rose, thank you so much for watching all these children," Miranda said. She carefully hung her bow and quiver on the wall and then accepted the chair that Madame Fayeth had vacated.  

"Well, you should not have trouble finding a babysitter when the whole place is just women," Madame Fayeth said. "Actually, after traveling with the army and then being in Vetanium, this lack of men has been quite disturbing. I never thought I would say that."

Miranda smiled. Esseldan and Deltane were at her sides now, and she hugged them close. "We have some men right here," she said and enjoyed how the boys beamed with approval for their elevated status.

Victoria started crying, which set off Sahleen’s baby.

"Oh, I will get Victoria," Madame Fayeth said eagerly. She went with Sahleen to pick the babies up and soothe them.

Sahleen’s other two children clung to her skirt and welcomed her home with their precious affection.

Miranda took off her hat and shook a few snowflakes from her curly hair. Deltane grabbed two sticks of firewood and shoved them toward the hot coals in the fireplace.

"Slow down, Deltane," Miranda admonished. "You will burn yourself." She bent over and guided his movements as he set the sticks in the fire.

Esseldan ran into Miranda’s cramped little room where she slept with all her children and got a blanket. He was eager to reclaim his mother’s attention, and she accepted the blanket graciously.

"Oh, you are so thoughtful," she praised. Taking off her cloak, she traded it for the blanket. Esseldan was too short to hang it up, so he tossed it on the cluttered table that the two families used for everything.

Miranda wrapped the blanket around her shoulders and gestured for Madame Fayeth to give her Victoria.

As Madame Fayeth transferred the whimpering girl to her mother, she said, "The poor thing is just miserable with teething."

Miranda murmured sympathetically to her daughter although Victoria’s cries bit into her ears after the pleasant peace in the forest.

Sahleen went into her room with her baby after announcing that she would change her clothes and lie down for a little while. Her daughters, Rayda and Ocelia, remained in the main room and were soon involved in play with Miranda’s boys.

As the children tussled about the small room, Madame Fayeth poked at the fire. She held the edges of her shawl close as she leaned into the fireplace.

Victoria finally decided to stop protesting her dental condition, and the fire crackled happily with the new fuel. Miranda started to hum but stopped abruptly when another note intruded on her tune. She listened closely and heard the sound again.

"There is a horn," she announced.

Madame Fayeth had yet to hear it, but she trusted Miranda’s ears. She was not sure if she should be excited or afraid, and Miranda mirrored her uncertainty.

Miranda called to Sahleen, who emerged unbuttoned from her bedroom.

"What is wrong, my Lady?" she asked worriedly.

"Someone is coming. Watch the children," Miranda said. She handed Victoria off to Sahleen and yanked her cloak off the table.

Madame Fayeth followed Miranda outside. Another deep horn note crossed the crisp valley air and roused more people from their cabins.  

Tiah rode through the gate that had been installed in the old wall that summer.   Blasts of steamy breath issued from the nostrils of her horse that had been running in the high snow. She came from the scout camp that watched the High Road. Her brass horn dangled from her arm on a red cord.

"Riders on the road!" Tiah yelled.

Miranda rushed toward Tiah and asked how many riders she had seen.

Tiah replied that she had counted over fifty riders. "They are our men," she confirmed, which was a relief, but neither woman knew how to interpret the low number.

Tiah swung down gracefully from her horse and patted the animal’s face that was shaggy with its winter fur. She hoped that her husband was among the returning warriors and she waited with the growing crowd of excited people in the center of the settlement. Lydea and Hanshen rushed outside to join their mother. Hope and anxiety vied for command of Lydea’s emotions.

A few friendly flakes swirled down from the silvery sky and ushered the warriors into the settlement. Smiling ranks of women greeted the warriors, who welcomed the warm sight as the temperature dropped.

Tytido was the first man to enter Elendra, and Lydea squealed with delight to see him. She ran out to him, waving and calling his name.

He grinned to his new wife and turned his horse aside so that the other riders could continue. Other women began calling the names of their husbands or sweethearts as they spotted them, and the crowd began to engulf the riders with joyous reunions. Miranda and Tiah observed in polite silence, bound by the absence of their husbands.

A sling held Tytido’s left arm. The five-day ride from the battlefield had stalled the healing of his wound, but the hardship was trivial when he saw Lydea. He swung his right leg over his horse’s neck and jumped down from the saddle. The technique strained his tender body the least.

Lydea had her arms around him before his boots hit the ground. Tytido savored the fierceness of her hug.

With his good arm, he hugged her back, thanking his ancestors for the chance to hold her again. Her beaming smile and flushed cheeks intensified her beauty.

"Oh, Tytido. I did not allow myself to even hope that I would see you so soon," Lydea said. Blinking on some tears of joy, she added, "An Atrophane wife expects a kiss when her husband comes home."

Tytido’s cultural modesty was fleeting. Western people did not kiss in public, but he was happy to compromise with Lydea on this issue. They indulged in a passionate kiss.

"You are hurt," Lydea observed, a little breathless after the kiss. "I will ask Jolen to look at you immediately." She tugged Tytido but he did not move.

"That must wait," he said simply and looked for Miranda.

Lydea started to insist that he must let her take care of him, but Tytido cut her off. "Lydea, I have duties," he reminded.

A little guiltily, she nodded. She would have to get used to being married to an important man and act accordingly.

Miranda waited a few steps away with Madame Fayeth and Hanshen as the newlyweds finished their greetings. Miranda’s dignified expression belied her disappointment that Dreibrand was not present.

With Lydea on his arm because she simply could not let go, Tytido went to Miranda. He wasted no time alleviating her unrevealed panic.

"Dreibrand lives and Sandin has been defeated," Tytido announced. Miranda exhaled with visible relief and was about to smile when deep regret claimed Tytido’s face. He glanced at everyone and said, "But Atarek…died."

Madame Fayeth gasped. Hanshen shouted with denial. Lydea merely looked stunned. The bad news conflicted too sharply with her happiness. Miranda cast her eyes down imagining Dreibrand’s grief.

"Are you sure?" Madame Fayeth said, unwilling to believe.

Tytido nodded. The image of Dreibrand speaking over his brother’s grave filled Tytido’s memory. Barely recovered from his surgery, Dreibrand had presided over the lowering of Atarek into his resting place. Snow had dusted the nearby mound of excavated soil.

With a quavering voice, Hanshen asked what happened. The grief on the boy’s face was miserable to behold.

Still blaming himself, Tytido said evasively that it was complicated. He asked his in-laws to be patient for explanations. "I must speak with Miranda right now," he said. He pried his arm away from Lydea and gave her an apologetic look that conveyed his wish that she wait with her family.

"I want to know what happened." Madame Fayeth asserted. The reality of Atarek’s death skulked close to her heart like a predator waiting for a weak animal to collapse.

Doubting that he could persuade his mother-in-law to be patient, Tytido said, "Sandin killed him." Then, with obvious regret, he briefly explained the circumstances and added that he blamed himself for the tragedy.

When he finished, Madame Fayeth burst into tears and ran to her cabin.

"I am sorry," Tytido said to Hanshen, but the boy did not look at him with any blame. He only knew that his favorite adult was gone forever.

"Go to your mother," Tytido advised his wife. The tender affection in his dark eyes coaxed Lydea into letting him go. She went with Hanshen to share their grief in private.

"Come, Tytido. I am sure that you are cold," Miranda said woodenly and guided him to her house.

Although Miranda was upset by Atarek’s death, the news that Dreibrand had seized power among the Atrophane filled her with intense pride. Her noble husband had prevailed.

Sahleen had restrained the children just outside the doorway. The boys shouted questions about their father as soon as Tytido came near them.  

Miranda decided to delay telling her sons about the death of their uncle and ordered them to be quiet. The children recognized the sternness of her tone and obeyed nervously. As they entered the cabin, Miranda instructed Sahleen to bring hot tea to her room and keep the children out.

Miranda showed Tytido into her bedroom. He shyly looked at his feet, feeling awkward in the bedroom of his best friend’s wife.

"Tytido, you can sit down," Miranda said, regretting his polite discomfort.

"I will stand for now," he responded and looked up gratefully when Sahleen brought him a steaming cup. Sahleen shut the door on her way out.

After days out in the weather, he sipped the hot drink greedily. Miranda lit a couple more candles, and noticed her hands shaking as she touched flame to wick.

Miranda bravely asked, "What else do you have to tell me?"

"Dreibrand says that he must be away for some time. He doubts that he will be home any earlier than next summer," Tytido said.

He watched her absorb the news and cast away her hope. He guessed how deeply she delved for fortitude to raise her family and guide their people without Dreibrand and his charisma that bound the settlers with his authority.

Dreibrand’s trust that she would preserve his kingdom during the long absence sustained Miranda’s resolve. Drawing a deep breath, Miranda said, "Our settlements are safe again, right? Tempet and Alloi are destroyed?"

"Tempet is destroyed. We all saw that happen," Tytido said.

"But?" Miranda prompted, seeing that he did not like the rest of his answer.

Tytido told her about the events of the battles, including the losses among the men of Vetanium, the rys soldiers, and the death of Quylan. Then, Tytido related the punishment that Shan had released upon the invaders.

Miranda grabbed the edge of her bed and sat down. A chill crept across her skin. She had witnessed what rys magic could do to the soul, and she pitied her enemies.

Sharing in her horror, Tytido continued. He described how Shan had flung the armies into sleep after freeing the fledgling Deamedron from his enchanted bondage. Upon waking, they had found that Shan was gone and so was Alloi. Their whereabouts or fate remained unknown.

"But everyone thinks that Shan must have killed her?" Miranda pressed. Despite her fresh grief, her paramount concern remained their overall safety.

Tytido murmured, "I believe that."

"Shan must have gone back to Jingten," Miranda guessed. "Where else could he have gone?"

"I suppose," Tytido said.

"And the Atrophane still accepted Dreibrand without Shan there to make them?" Miranda said, impressed by her husband’s achievement.

"Well, yes, because Dreibrand made Shan stop their torture. He saved many enemy soldiers from Shan’s cruelty."

Miranda nodded. She knew that Dreibrand would not leave even his enemies to such unspeakable torment.

Tytido finished his cup of tea. He needed its last bit of warmth before continuing.

"Miranda, when Shan turned the Atrophane men into wraiths, he was not himself. Dreibrand told me that Shan was completely insane, that Shan hurt him, even came close to killing him. Dreibrand does not know if he has Shan’s friendship anymore. He says that you must assume that we are on our own." As a loyal follower of the rys King for many years, Tytido heard the wailing echoes of his loyalty, but he believed what he said.

Miranda, normally so brave, wilted with vulnerability. Her full lips hung open, unable to acknowledge or protest what she had been told. Her close relationship with Shan had always been the one thing that transcended the difficulties in her life. Even confronted by the possibility that Shan no longer cared about her or her family, she could only think about the pure love that he had blessed her with when life had inflicted too much pain.

It cannot be, she thought. "What does Dreibrand mean we are on our own?" she asked defensively.

Sensitive to her dismay, Tytido answered that Shan had become dangerous and they would do best to avoid him.

Miranda rubbed her temple. She could picture the terror Shan had created but she could not accept it. She reasoned desperately that Dreibrand must have been hurt by mistake. Shan could not have meant it and Dreibrand must have misinterpreted the accident.

Tytido tried to encourage her. "Miranda, I wanted to stay with Dreibrand, but it was his wish that I come home, mostly because I am wounded, but he also asked me to support you while he is away. I will gladly do that. He said that he would make a treaty that would make it safe for us to coexist with the Empire. I believe that he will bring us this peace."

"He will, Tytido. He will," Miranda said. Despite her faith in Dreibrand’s mission, her patience choked on the amount of time that he would be gone. Without Shan’s power to back him, Dreibrand might need years to shape the Empire to his will.

Tytido adjusted his sling. "I wish I had gone with him instead of Faychan," he complained, envious of the refugee mercenary who served as Dreibrand’s counsel during this critical time.

To divert his resentment from Dreibrand’s choice of companion, Miranda said, "But you are hurt and deserve the comfort of your new wife."

When Tytido considered Lydea, he nodded. He was deeply happy to be reunited with Lydea, but Tytido withheld from Miranda the ultimate reason that Dreibrand had declined his company. Dreibrand had said that the Lords of Nufal must not go into the Empire together. Tytido understood that if Dreibrand failed, then defending the integrity of Nufal would become his responsibility.

"There is another thing," Tytido said. He removed a pouch that was tucked inside his sling. "Dreibrand has sent this to you for safekeeping."

Miranda received the pouch and opened it. Inside she found a gold and jade man’s ring. She admired the green stone and held it closer to a candle. The muscles of the splendid horse carved into the jade rippled in the light. She had never seen it before.

Tytido explained, "It was in Sandin’s possession. The ring belonged to Atarek. I gather that it has been in Dreibrand’s family for a very long time. He said that it is worn by the male heir of his house, which with Atarek gone…"

"Then, why does Dreibrand not wear it? Why did he send it here?" Miranda asked fearfully. Did this heirloom of his family in her hand indicate that Dreibrand doubted that he would ever come home? Was it her duty to give it to Deltane when the time came?

"Miranda, I truly believe Dreibrand simply cannot put it on, at least not yet. It was his brother’s, and the pain is so hard on him," Tytido said.

Staring at the ring, Miranda murmured, "Poor Atarek."

"His death will be hard on the boys," Tytido said and glanced at the door. At least he had not had to bring news of their father’s passing.

Placing the ring back in its pouch, Miranda lamented that her children had to endure more grief than their years deserved.

"We are through the worst of it," Tytido said. "Dreibrand has four hundred of our warriors with him as bodyguards and many rys soldiers accompanied him as well. That will make a big impression when he reaches the Empire."

Miranda remembered the eastern world that she had left behind. Stories about magic and gods in the Wilderness had been the subject of local folklore for as long as anyone knew. The actual sight of rys would surely have a sweeping impact.

"Other than losing Atarek, how is Dreibrand?" Miranda asked, needing more information about her lover whose absence stripped her of happiness.

Tytido had hoped to avoid the subject because Dreibrand had expressed his wish that Miranda not know about his injury. But Tytido had known that Miranda, with her natural hunger for details, would ask. Unwilling to lie to her, Tytido told her about the wound and the surgery, but assured her that Dreibrand would recover. A rys with healing skills was in his company in case any complications arose.

"Dreibrand is strong. Do not worry," Tytido concluded.

Miranda agreed bravely. She remained thankful that he had not been killed.

Knowing how Tytido had to be burdened by exhaustion, she suggested that he go home, and he agreed quickly.

Curious stares from Sahleen and the children awaited them in the main room. Miranda wished Tytido a goodnight, but she immediately turned glum after seeing him out the door. She sat slowly into her chair by the fire. Her blank stare closed her off from her family and she recited in her mind Dreibrand’s promise to return to her. She no longer doubted his desire to come home to Nufal, but as he confronted the Empire alone, she feared the many trials that could prevent his return. And she pitied his physical injury and grief. He needed her and she could not go to him.

When she did not speak, Sahleen went to her mistress and set a caring hand on her shoulder. "Miranda, what is wrong?" Sahleen asked, feeling the bad news.

Miranda looked at her sons. She had no easy way to put it. Their worried little faces pleaded for reassurance. She announced that their father had gone to visit the Atrophane Empire on important business and he would not be home for a long time. Then, while clenching the little pouch with the jade ring inside it, Miranda prepared to speak the words that would make her accept Atarek’s death. She told the boys that they would never see their Uncle Atarek again.

13. The Lake Land

Disregarding his painful wound that begged him to rest, Dreibrand dared not linger on the high plains between Vetanium and the Rysamand. He dreaded that the presence of the Atrophane would compel Shan to return, and as soon as Dreibrand’s treasure was secretly delivered to him, he led the Atrophane army south.

Because the losses for the Atrophane had been high, the soldiers did not want for provisions at first. But the prairie offered little fuel for fires, and the cold men huddled nightly around stingy campfires. With the north wind as a constant companion, the weather vacillated between freezing rain and even colder powdery snow that scudded over the brown grass and drifted in the gullies. To sustain their bodies, they consumed more rations than had been planned for when the campaign was stocked.

Dreibrand decided to swing eastward and hug the Tabren foothills as they traveled. Forests stretched down from the mountains and followed the creeks out of the hills, offering much wanted firewood. Around bigger campfires, the traumatized state of the soldiers began to ease until they passed a ruined town that reminded them of the long reach of rys power.

Dreibrand had heard about the old town that presumably marked the ancient southern border of Nufal, but he had never visited it. His natural curiosity for such things barely stirred when he sighted on the prairie horizon the worn hunks of stone walls and toppled columns. He imagined the disintegrating bones and fragile skulls that no doubt decorated the place, and then he thought of Atarek’s fresh bones in the freezing soil. The sick reality of his grief oppressed him.

To a lesser extent, Cevlead felt the sadness that radiated from the ruins and told Dreibrand about the large lake just a little farther to the southeast. He said that it was a fair place and perhaps a good location for the army to take some rest.

Dreibrand followed the suggestion, and the next day, the army wearily set up camp along the shores of the lake. The cold weather slackened somewhat, but Dreibrand was numb to the relief that crossing an unseen climatic line had brought. But the rys soldiers in his company were acutely aware of the subtle changes in the land. They soaked up the details of the lake, the plants, and even the air. When a few rys detected buffalo grazing on the plains to the west, they mentioned the herd to Dreibrand. Thinking of the needs of his men and knowing that providing for them would entice their loyalty, Dreibrand organized a hunt.

Under a cloudy swirling sky every shade of gray, riders and foot soldiers ventured onto the prairie and stalked the animals that were still unaccustomed to human hunting parties. The discipline of the soldiers translated naturally to coordinating the hunt, and their weapons of war returned to the use originally conceived for such equipment.

After the hunters slew thirty buffalo, Dreibrand toured the groups that stood over their prizes and congratulated all of them. Dreibrand had not participated in the kills. His slowly healing chest wound discouraged him from attempting to thrust a spear into a shaggy muscular beast, but as the Lord General of the army, Dreibrand presided over their success. With the rations stale and running low, the extra meat buoyed the spirits of the hunters, and Dreibrand looked forward to accompanying them back to the camp. Their happy bounty would be credited to him.

Rearden rode next to Dreibrand as he spoke with the hunters, but the usual pride a high lieutenant would derive from serving at the side of his Lord General was absent. Rearden had figured out that he was not honored by his lord’s continual need for him. Rearden noticed how shallow his authority was. Cevlead Fanlyre was running things, hearing reports from the other commanders and distributing orders from Dreibrand. Even now, as Rearden pretended to admire dead animals, Cevlead was at the camp and in control.

And the ease with which the soldiers gave their obedience to Dreibrand disgusted Rearden. He watched the faces of the hunters as they lapped up praise from their undeserving lord.

"Take your share from mine, my Lord General," beamed a happy sergeant. "It is just full grown and will give the best meat."

Dreibrand said, "I agree with your judgment about the meat, Sergeant, but share it with the infantry for they must walk and need more food."

Rearden stared with weary disgust at the hunters. The sergeant and the other two men standing over the buffalo accepted their Lord General’s suggestion with borderline reverence. They thrived on Dreibrand’s every little gesture toward their well being.

>They are hopeless >, Rearden thought. Why give Dreibrand a steak when they can give their mindless devotion? Who cares that their true lord was murdered in a violated duel? Who cares that Dreibrand is a criminal deceiver who raises the banner of his censured House next to the imperial chariot?

Rearden shut off the disgruntled litany that played in his head more each day. Upset as he was, he did not know what to do. Dreibrand was never vulnerable. Rys and barbarians attended him at all times and slept around his tent, where Dreibrand lounged on the pillaged possessions of the Darhet. Rearden never had a chance to sound out the other officers about their opinions on the situation. Someone was always with him or watching.

He looked suddenly at the barbarian Faychan on the other side of Dreibrand. The westerner’s dark eyes were fixed elsewhere, but Rearden had the feeling that Faychan had just been looking at him. The barbarian often made Rearden uncomfortable when he would casually glance at him while speaking to Dreibrand in his foreign tongue.

Among such company, Rearden concluded after every frustrating day that defying Dreibrand would mean death.

The hunters worked quickly to slaughter the animals before sunset. The days were growing shorter, and they looked forward to spreading their meat over hot fires. It was good to have the cold privation of the northern plains behind them.

Although imperial territory still remained a dozen long marches away, the soldiers talked about their return eagerly. They rarely raised the subject of what had happened on the campaign. Dead comrades were quietly praised and remembered, but no one wanted to discuss the horrible details of a battle that they never should have fought. It was better to anticipate the rough civilization of the Bosta Territory and imagine when and how much Dreibrand would pay them and how they would spend the extra money.

Dreibrand mentally clung to the acceptance from the soldiers. His command of the Atrophane prevented the loss of Atarek from shattering him completely. But courting the loyalty of the vulnerable was a drafty shelter from his stabbing guilt.

When Dreibrand retired to his tent that night after the hunt, Dey followed him through the red fabric flaps and tied them shut. Dreibrand stretched out on the furs and blankets and waited for Dey to light the oil lamp with his magic.

"You always know when I need help," Dreibrand commented when the orange flame sprang up. He cleared his throat and then allowed himself to cough. The coughing escalated until he spit up some blood onto a cloth. The pain had sharpened during the hunt, and he had struggled all day to keep himself from having a coughing fit in front of anybody.

"Not as much this time," Dreibrand whispered and folded the cloth to hide his bloody spittle. He tentatively took a deeper breath and unbuckled his armor-plate jacket.

Dey set a hand on Dreibrand’s chest. "Resting here will help you. Too much time in the saddle and no time given to healing," he scolded.

Dreibrand agreed. His flight from Shan’s potential wrath had sabotaged his recovery, but now he could stop and let Dey’s magic truly help him instead of just treating the pain. Dreibrand knew that he had to be fit when he returned to the Empire.

Enchanted light radiated from Dey’s eyes as he began a healing spell. Dreibrand relaxed and appreciated the soothing energy that seeped into his damaged flesh from the blue fingers on his chest. Dreibrand dozed off while Dey remained in trance.

When Dey pulled a fur over his human patient, Dreibrand awoke. The oil lamp was sputtering on the last of its fuel, and he knew that it was late into the night. His chest felt good, and he was warm. For a fleeting moment, he was even at peace, but his sadness soon crashed into his mind like a jilted lover.

"You went a long time tonight. Thank you," Dreibrand said.

"You needed it," Dey said and then advised Dreibrand to rest the entire next day.

"I will," Dreibrand promised.

 Dey shifted onto his knees and placed the handle of Dreibrand’s sword in the human’s right hand. He always slept with his weapon ready. Dreibrand adjusted his position to make himself more comfortable and pulled the weapon closer like a child clutching an important toy.

"My pain is gone," he murmured sleepily. "You really made a difference tonight. You are getting stronger."

Intrigued by the comment, Dey said, "You can tell?"
"Yes. And I think that spell may have fixed me, Dey. Thank you," Dreibrand said.

Dey brightened, but then made an effort to be humble in his success. "You are welcome. I am happy that I could help. Rest, Lord Dreibrand," Dey said and moved to leave.

"Dey, why have you been so kind to me?" Dreibrand asked.

The rys paused. He looked over his shoulder at the warding crystal on Dreibrand’s sword that marked him as a special friend of his King. With the lamplight gone, the cool blue glow of the crystal revealed to Dey the lingering twilight of Dreibrand’s love for Shan.

"I have seen suffering now and I think I prefer to help than hurt," Dey responded, but then he met Dreibrand’s eyes and added, "I also know that King Shan would want me to help you. If he were here, he would help you."

"Do not be so sure of it," Dreibrand said. He turned his face away and pressed it against a fur. The soft pelt of the dead animal comforted him far more than memories of his lost fondness for Shan.

Dey pitied the desolation of the human man, who had basked in Shan’s love and then had it ripped away. The rys departed quietly and Dreibrand tumbled into fitful sleep bedeviled by dreams of grief and blood.

As Dey recommended, Dreibrand secluded himself the next day. He stayed in the tent, dozing on and off. When voices or loud activity from outside roused Dreibrand from his napping, he would clench with panic before identifying the sounds as normal.

By afternoon, Dreibrand had to get up to relieve himself. He reached for his helmet, but then considered that he would appear more confident if he moved about bare headed. Outside his tent, he encountered an unexpected sunny afternoon. The lake rippled with light and the snow on the eastern mountains was bright and clean. All around him, the Nufalese warriors were cooking fish from the lake, and the strong smell reminded Dreibrand that he needed to eat. 

After washing his hands and face, he accepted a plate from Gulang. Dreibrand ate while standing. The fresh food revitalized him even if he was impervious to the pleasurable flavor. Dreibrand asked Gulang where Faychan was.

"He is giving Rearden a complete report of how many fish we caught," Gulang said with some amusement.

Pleased by Faychan’s vigilance, Dreibrand said, "I think I will tour camp now."

Gulang scooped up his helmet and signaled to nearby comrades who immediately stood up. Dreibrand privately appreciated their automatic attention to his security. Without ever needing to be ordered, his Nufalese warriors always made sure at least a dozen of them stayed with him. Usually, a couple rys soldiers joined them whenever Dreibrand moved among his newly acquired army, and he suspected Dey’s influence in their concern.

As they moved out of the Nufalese portion of camp, Dreibrand regretted the segregation of his forces. The fires of the Atrophane and the Nufalese never overlapped, and the rys kept to themselves. Dreibrand accepted that the recent conflict among them precluded mingling. His ability to impose order was remarkable enough, but Dreibrand continued to seek ways to diminish lingering animosity. He frequently invited Atrophane officers and soldiers to eat with him and his men, which appeared to lessen the tension.

No dissention was apparent in the ranks as Dreibrand moved across the Atrophane camp. Soldiers were relaxing with full bellies of fresh meat and fish. Foraging groups were returning with armfuls of firewood to keep the fires big and bright. Dreibrand praised the men for their endurance and reminded them of the pay that would be provided when they reached imperial territory. While speaking with various cliques of soldiers, he also casually mentioned the settlement opportunities that were budding in Nufal. He wanted them to see Nufal as a place already open to them and therefore unnecessary to conquer.  

Even as Dreibrand developed his rhetoric for reshaping the views of soldiers, who had been stirred with promises of glory and booty, he wanted to forget everything. The bell in the temple of his self-loathing called him to kneel at the altar of his guilt. His selfish schemes had dragged Atarek to his death, and Dreibrand’s grief vied for control of his mental faculties. Why refine strategies for building power when it would not change the outcome? Atarek would remain dead.

Dreibrand bailed the sorrow from the sinking vessel of his will and focused on the young soldier in front of him. A crooked wound marred the youth’s face. The gash that started on his cheekbone and went down his neck attested to his recent struggle with death. He had been saved at the last possible moment from a wraith that had been tearing him open with its freezing cutting insanity.

"What is your name?" Dreibrand asked, and when the soldier told him, Dreibrand valued the gratitude in the soldier’s eyes. It told Dreibrand that his actions sometimes benefited other people. 

Dreibrand moved on and eventually circled back to Rearden’s tent, which was located next to the Nufalese section of camp. The lieutenant was staring at a pot of water boiling over his campfire while Faychan rambled about something. On top of his mangled vocabulary, the westerner’s accent was too thick for Rearden to understand him, but what the barbarian had to say hardly mattered. Rearden knew he was being babysat. He almost appeared grateful to get up and salute Dreibrand.

Dreibrand said, "The camp is in good order. Well done, Lieutenant."

"Thank you, my Lord," Rearden said, unimpressed by the praise.

Dreibrand then expressed his pleasure to see Rearden and Faychan socializing. It befitted his rank as lieutenant to set a good example and display his acceptance for his Lord General’s Nufalese associates.

Rearden absorbed the tiresome reminder and forced a smile toward Faychan who had failed to get up when his lord approached. "My pleasure," Rearden said. Then, dipping his head respectfully to Dreibrand, he continued, "Since you are up, my Lord, I would like to retire early. Forgive me for I am tired."

Days of ceaseless marching had given him no chance to sleep except when Dreibrand did, and Rearden wanted to seize the opportunity to set his sleep opposite Dreibrand’s while they were camping beside the lake.

"Certainly, Lieutenant Rearden," Dreibrand granted pleasantly. "Go to your rest and thank you for taking care of things while I caught up on my sleep today."

Rearden excused himself politely and ducked into his small red tent. Faychan’s skeptical eyes tracked the officer. He had already guessed Rearden’s little ploy. Faychan got to his feet with a dramatic grunt.

"I will have him watched tonight," he said in the western language.

Dreibrand acknowledged the statement reluctantly. He wanted Rearden to come around to accepting him, but the fake motions of the lieutenant’s obedience were painfully obvious.

"Dreibrand, you look well today," Faychan said brightly.

Dreibrand placed a hand on his chest and nodded. "I am recovering, but I am not the only man with wounds that need healing. We will stay here a few more days. Cevlead was right. This is a nice place," he said.

"Yes, and your Atrophane friend seems to be on a holiday," Faychan commented. He gestured with his eyes toward the lake. "He wandered off along the shore hours ago and I have not seen him return."

"Then let us go look for him," Dreibrand said.

Faychan scowled and quietly cautioned, "Dreibrand, I will find him if you wish. He could be setting a trap for you."

Dreibrand was too emotionally battered to feel much sting from the prospect of treachery from Cevlead. "Then it would be best to go spring his trap if there is one. I would know how my friendship stands with him before I reach the Empire," Dreibrand said.

"As you wish, my Lord," Faychan conceded because Dreibrand made a good point even if his methods were reckless.

Dreibrand and his bodyguards strolled out to the lake. They skirted large areas of reeds and walked along the short stretches of muddy or gravel beaches. In places, where the beaches were absent, they mounted the ridge of turf where the prairie abruptly met the water.

They encountered Cevlead walking in the open by himself. No soldiers prowled the reedy cover waiting to ambush the Lord General. Cevlead merely sauntered beside the water, occasionally tossing a pebble out and watching the rippling circles thoughtfully. The breeze tugged at his light brown hair that was free of ponytail and helmet.

When he noticed the approach of Dreibrand, Cevlead ceased his boyish dalliance and jogged toward him.

"Have I caught you in the act of deserting?" Dreibrand teased when Cevlead stopped in front of him.

Catching his breath, Cevlead said, "Please excuse me, my Lord. I should not have been ignoring my duties. Has something happened?"

Dreibrand shook his head. The behavior he had just observed in Cevlead interested him more than it concerned him. Usually Cevlead was stressed by his inexperience coupled with difficult situations, and Dreibrand had never imagined him as he had just seen him: at peace and embraced by his environment.

"What were you doing?" Dreibrand asked.

Cevlead glanced around the group before answering. The Nufalese warriors stared at him suspiciously and the one rys soldier in the back seemed entirely fixated on the lake waters lapping the muddy bank. Cevlead did not really care how any of them judged him, but he wished that Dreibrand had not seen him being so silly and useless.

Cevlead answered honestly. "I apologize. I just needed some time to myself. I will not—"

Dreibrand cut him off with a chuckle that startled everybody because unrelenting grief had clung to their lord since the duel. Dreibrand said, "Cevlead, do you think you have to grovel to me for forgiveness over this trifle like I am Sandin Promentro?"

The lapse into apologetic sputtering reminded Cevlead of how taxing it had been to serve under the Darhet. Remembering that Dreibrand wanted to be his friend, Cevlead said, "Dreibrand, may be talk?"

"Of course," Dreibrand said.

By his awkward silence Cevlead indicated that he wanted to speak with his countryman alone. Dreibrand gestured for his companions to wait while he moved away with the commander. Faychan restrained himself from reminding Dreibrand to be careful. Dreibrand could handle himself with one man, and Faychan told the others to watch the landscape for any signs of trouble.

Faychan studied the similarities between Dreibrand and Cevlead as they walked away. Their features and coloring were of the same land, and the unseen bonds of a shared culture automatically made them fit with each other.

Dreibrand climbed a steep bank until he reached level ground overlooking the lake. So many types of land were gathered around him. The grasslands, the water, the mountains, and the forests converged to make the place vibrant with life and possibility.

The breeze kicked up the loose strands of Dreibrand’s long hair, and the milder air caressed his neck. He waited for Cevlead to state his business.  

"I like this place," Cevlead finally declared. The light reflecting on the lake looked like golden glass, precious with fragile promise, and it shone warmly on his face.

Dreibrand did not comment, which bothered Cevlead who had expected a reaction.

"I mean that I should, um, like to live here," Cevlead said. When Dreibrand still did not respond, Cevlead assumed that he needed to make his entire case quickly. "I want to start a proper settlement. A new town by this lake. I suppose that technically I would want to do it as an avenue for expanding the holdings of Clan Fanlyre, but mostly I want a place that is mine. And, I would want it to be part of Nufal. I mean, you know, to be considered Nufalese."

The proposal flattered Dreibrand with great intensity. A noble born Atrophane man wanted to be a part of what Dreibrand had achieved. It was very vindicating.

Cevlead continued, "This is the place where I first considered your offer of friendship. It even crossed my mind to turn around and ride back to Vetanium."

Dreibrand recognized that the Wilderness had courted Cevlead Fanlyre like a lonely girl. Once the bold lush beauty of Nufal snared the heart, the longing for a distant homeland lessened.

"What do you say?" Cevlead urged.

Dreibrand pondered the question, pretending to be ambivalent. "It is not easy living in the Wilderness," Dreibrand said.

Determined to make his claim, Cevlead reminded firmly, "You said that I could have a stake in this new land of yours."

Cevlead’s desire for the lake land and budding anger hardened his features. Dreibrand imagined that he must have had a similar expression when Lord Kwan had tried to keep him out of the Wilderness six years earlier.

"I have only been waiting to hear your request, Cevlead," Dreibrand said. "I welcome you to Nufal. Make this place flourish. Be its lord and be a part of the new civilization that will develop in this great land. As the highest lord in Nufal, I grant you title to all the lands around this lake."

The daring commander relaxed and then smiled as if he now knew that he would sleep each night with pleasant dreams. Embarrassed over his antagonizing nervousness, he told himself to be more comfortable with his new friend. Yes, he had seen how dangerous Dreibrand could be as an enemy, but Dreibrand was generous with loyal friends.

"Thank you, my Lord Dreibrand," Cevlead said formally. He extended his right hand. "And I will make permanent the pledge of peace that I have given to you in the past."

Dreibrand took his hand and said, "Peace will be permanent between us, my friend, Lord Cevlead of Clan Fanlyre." Dreibrand set his other hand over their joined hands and gave them one more squeeze before letting go.

Still shaking off his anxiety, Cevlead murmured, "It seemed so much to ask."

"I have much to give," Dreibrand said. "But, although you have earned your reward, much remains for both of us to do before we can enjoy our wealth."

Cevlead nodded resolutely, knowing that he had helped overthrow Sandin and therefore would have to continue to secure Dreibrand to his new authority. Without Dreibrand having to mention it, Cevlead knew to stay silent about his personal plans. No one needed to know at this time about the big deal that he had cut with the Lord of Nufal.

14. Playing Both Sides

The situation with the rebels has become severe since the departure of the Darhet. I urgently request more troops in order to maintain the position of the Empire in the Bosta Territory – Lieutenant Parlim, excerpt from monthly report to Carfu Anglair, Governor of Phemnalang.

 

The images within the spyglass appalled Dreibrand. Outside the freshly built Fort Promentro, Atrophane soldiers were stuck on sharpened poles. The faint squawk of ravens drifted on the air. Dreibrand had seen their black wings flapping between the shredded bodies.

With the might of the Atrophane Empire sucked northwest by Sandin’s campaign, the Bosta rebels had seized the opportunity for revenge.

Toughened to such horrors after many battles, Dreibrand coped, as a leader must. He wished his decision to approach the fort with caution had not been so horribly correct. He had avoided the open prairie to the north and west of the fort and hugged the edge of the eastern forest. After leaving the army behind, Dreibrand had gone ahead with Rearden and four rys soldiers to make a reconnaissance.

Dreibrand handed the spyglass to Rearden, who was stretched out next to him behind a fallen tree amid the dead weeds. 

"Look upon more damage caused by Sandin Promentro," Dreibrand said.

Rearden’s dark brown eyebrows drew closer together as displeasure grabbed his tired face. But he was unable to dispute the assignment of blame and took the spyglass. When he viewed the slain Atrophane left to the carrion eaters, a violent desire for retribution inflamed his heart. Rearden’s gaze lingered hungrily on the rebel that he spotted strutting on the catwalk like he actually belonged there.

Turning to Dreibrand, Rearden said, "We must attack."

"We will take the fort back, Lieutenant," Dreibrand said calmly, thinking over his plans.

Rearden disliked the unexpected feeling of wholeheartedly agreeing with Dreibrand about something and returned the spyglass to his Lord General.

The two men crawled away until they reached the grove of trees where Dey and his comrades waited with the horses. The rys had hung back in order to watch for any patrolling rebels while Dreibrand and Rearden crept close to observe the fort. Dey perceived the anger and disgust of the humans when they returned.

Dreibrand asked the rys if he had determined how many people were inside the fort.

Dey had spent the last hour carefully counting the lifeforces within the stockade and replied, "Two hundred and four."

Dreibrand relayed the figure to Rearden, who anticipated an efficient massacre.

"Have you detected any people in the countryside?" Dreibrand asked.

Another rys soldier answered that the he had discerned a group of two dozen moving openly upon the crude road that led to the fort from the southeast. And one scouting group of three men was ranging west of the fort.

"We must go take them prisoner," Dreibrand decided.

"Prisoner?" Rearden repeated. "Simply slay the scum and leave their bodies to the crows."

Dreibrand did not begrudge Rearden his animosity, but he had plans beyond retribution. The soldiers hanging wretchedly on the pikes upset Dreibrand, but he focused on his soldiers who still lived.

"The prisoners will be useful to us, Lieutenant," Dreibrand said. "We cannot afford to be ruled by anger alone."

Hoping that Dreibrand meant to interrogate the prisoners harshly, Rearden belayed his criticism. He admitted privately that his anger swelled because Dreibrand was correct to blame Sandin for the savage conquest of the fort. The region should have never been depleted of military forces. The Empire had not been ready to rush into the Wilderness. Perhaps it never would be ready.

Dreibrand gathered Astar’s reins and swung easily in the saddle. His wounds were healed and he moved without impairment. He asked the rys to guide them to the rebel scouts.

"I want to take them alive if at all possible," Dreibrand said, and the rys soldiers nodded confidently. They were trained to control humans, and they rode toward the rebels without fear. They slipped deeper into the cover at the fringe of the forest and moved westward.

While galloping beside the rys soldiers, Dreibrand’s mind grappled with the challenge of initiating a dialogue with the Bosta rebels and re-taking the fort, which he had to do in order to maintain the esteem that the Atrophane soldiers had for him. At the minimum, he had a tremendous opportunity to win back the territory and present it to the Empire on a platter, but Dreibrand wanted more than to subdue a people who suffered under an insensitive occupation. He had told Kashil as much, and he remained committed to befriending Nufal’s nearest human neighbors.

Rearden, however, considered no broad vision for bettering the human condition in the region. He rode with his mouth pinched shut in wrathful silence.

The rys slowed as they approached the unwitting scouts. Dey ordered two rys soldiers to hang back in order to detain any scouts that might escape the initial attack.

Dreibrand proposed that he and Rearden charge the scouts. Then, once they were engaged, Dey and the remaining rys soldier could cast spells to subdue them.

Rearden drew his sword. He was more than ready to bare steel and run down Bosta rebels. Dreibrand unsheathed his sword and offered the tip to Rearden for a warrior’s salute.  Although the lieutenant resisted the act of camaraderie, he tapped his sword against Dreibrand’s sword in the traditional gesture of warrior fraternity.

The humans advanced on their targets. The rys shadowed them, already training their minds on the rebels. Dreibrand and Rearden descended on the Bosta trio. The ominous thunder of swiftly beating horses’ hooves startled the rebels. Two rebels raised their weapons to meet the onslaught of the Atrophane, and the third rebel readied his bow. The sharp ring of clashing blades erupted quickly, punctuated by grinding shouts of battle. The archer raised his bow and aimed for Rearden, but before he could fully pull back on the string, a rys attack spell toppled him from the saddle. The explosion of heated air singed his sleeves and scalded his face. His terrified horse bucked and bolted, leaving him on the ground screaming in pain and fear.

Dreibrand blocked a blow from his opponent and then saw the strength drain from the rebel’s face. The man’s eyes drooped and he slumped into semi-consciousness. After knocking the sword from the rebel’s hand, Dreibrand grabbed him and dragged him off his mount.

Rearden traded blows fiercely with his rebel and did not care about the rys spell that would soon come to support him. At the first chance, he plunged his blade into the opponent. The man cried out and cringed as pain robbed him of the ability to strike back with any force. He spurred his horse, hoping for escape, but Rearden kept pace with him. Without any regard for mercy, Rearden hacked again and knocked the man to the ground. As the bleeding rebel crashed, Rearden leaped from his horse and lifted his sword for the killing blow.

Dreibrand shouted for him to stop, but Rearden struck the mortal blow anyway.

Incensed by the defiance, Dreibrand immediately quit the saddle and strode toward Rearden. He grabbed the lieutenant’s shoulder and spun him around.

"You did not have to kill him!" he raged.

Calmly unrepentant, Rearden said, "We were fighting, my Lord. It just happened. I did not know how long the rys would take to help me."

Dreibrand noted that Rearden had not lowered his bloody sword. Has Rearden decided to fight me? Dreibrand wondered. He chose not to force the issue. Although tempted to duel Rearden and blame his death on the fight with the rebels, Dreibrand could not do it.

"Next time I say take prisoners, damn it, try harder," Dreibrand said. "Now catch his damn horse so we can haul his body. We cannot leave it here for the others to find."

"Yes, my Lord," Rearden said smugly, satisfied with the dead rebel at his feet.

The rys soldiers converged on the scene of battle. Dey advanced on the burned rebel who was attempting to get away. When the Bosta man saw the rys, he shouted with superstitious alarm. Today was the farthest the man had ever ventured into the Wilderness, and the legends had rapidly taken form. Dey’s sleep spell silenced him.

Glad to have the noise stopped, Dreibrand said, "Let us get these prisoners back to our camp. I need them."

Rearden, who had yet to retrieve the horse as instructed, had just finished cleaning his sword. He said, "And why does my Lord need these criminals?"

"Because, Lieutenant, after I speak with these prisoners, I can use them to take a message to their leader," Dreibrand explained.

Rearden rolled his eyes. As he started in the direction of the stray horse, he kicked the hand of the dead man out of his path. "This is the only message I have to give a Bosta," he growled.

Overhearing him, Dreibrand accepted that his command of Rearden remained tenuous. Wary of provoking the high lieutenant any more, Dreibrand resolved to reason with Rearden as much as possible. He had noticed that, if anything, Rearden tended not to argue with the truth.

After Rearden returned with the horse and grumbled through loading the body onto the animal, Dreibrand spoke to him. "Lieutenant, I understand that you want me to show more outrage over the dead Atrophane at the fort. But the desecration of their bodies must not prevent me from acting carefully. Has it not occurred to you that the whole of the Bosta Territory could have been lost in the absence of the military? I need to find out as much as I can about what is happening here. I will speak with my enemy if I can."

"I am sure my Lord knows best," Rearden said with insincere humility. He had assumed that Dreibrand only continued his endless manipulation.

Disappointed after his attempt to placate Rearden, Dreibrand tersely announced that they must get moving.

The rys finished binding, gagging, and loading the living prisoners on to horses. In contrast to the issues spoiling the tempers of the humans, the rys were more interested in the new land around them than their prisoners or the fort. The rys discussed the local flora and the weather as they led the prisoner-laden horses back to the army camp. When the two Bosta men awoke, they heard the pleasant rys voices, but they had no way to know that the conversation was so benign. Terrified of the rys, the Bosta prisoners sweated with fear and hardly thought of the Atrophane lords who had attacked them. 

******

The Atrophane army reposed comfortably where the plains met the old growth forest that dominated the eastern reaches of the Wilderness. Although the somber dormancy of winter left the land brown and chilly, snows and bitter cold no longer tested the endurance of the Atrophane soldiers. They welcomed the sight of the imperial frontier after the disappointments that they had met deeper in the Wilderness.

When Dreibrand returned with the captives, he transferred the Bosta men to Faychan’s custody before informing his army about the status of the fort. A ravenous desire for battle surged immediately among the Atrophane soldiers. The soldiers, who had struggled for nothing except loss and exposure at the direction of the tabre, wanted terribly to redeem their pride upon the uppity rebels. Dreibrand expected to have trouble tempering their anger with his calculated plans.

Rearden eagerly accepted his orders to mobilize the army. Soldiers who had marched twice across the Wilderness placed their packs on their shoulders with enthusiasm for their last short hike.

"I will walk right through that stockade to get out of the wind even if every rebel bastard stands against me," boasted one soldier. He tightened his belt, hoping that he would soon begin to put back the weight that long travels and thinning provisions had taken away.

As usual, Cevlead Fanlyre waited to speak with Dreibrand after the officers dispersed. Bound by their growing trust and desire to live in the west, Dreibrand dared to continue relying on Cevlead now that they had reached the Empire.

Dreibrand said, "I need you to take a war party to Droxy and determine the situation in the rest of the territory for me."

"Are you sure I should go, Dreibrand? You need me to keep Rearden in check," Cevlead said.

His concerned tone contrasted with Rearden’s constant criticism, but Dreibrand could not afford to keep his new friend close for the sake of pleasant company. "I will have to handle him without you. It is more important that my first contact with the Empire not be tainted by Rearden’s resentment. If any imperial forces remain in control, tell them that I have come to help. Play the young officer in a tough situation and do not reveal your personal ties to me. This is your chance to cast yourself in a good light before ugly rumors reach imperial ears," Dreibrand advised.

Cevlead nodded, admiring how Dreibrand attended to important details. He asked Dreibrand how many men he could have for the trip to Droxy.
"Oh, five hundred. The woods are likely to be thick with rebels between here and Droxy. Travel fast and pray to the Gods that Droxy is still in Atrophane hands," Dreibrand said.

"I expect that you will have regained the fort when I get back," Cevlead said.

"I may," Dreibrand said. "I expect to pressure whoever is in that fort into negotiating."

"Negotiating?" Cevlead said with surprise. "These men want blood."

"Soldiers do not decide strategy," Dreibrand said sternly. He could feel the pressure for retribution radiating from his newly acquired army, but he aspired to goals higher than violence. "Remember, Cevlead, when our business here is done, the Bostas will be our neighbors. It is time we improved relations."

Cevlead looked skeptical. The eradication of the rebels seemed an automatic response, and he was not quite sure what Dreibrand planned to do. I have trusted you this far, Cevlead thought and placed his faith in Dreibrand’s extraordinary ability to prevail.

"Hurry back with your report," Dreibrand said.

Cevlead saluted the Lord General and rushed to assemble his men. He had barely stepped away when Kashil and two other Bosta warriors from Vetanium stalked purposefully toward their lord. 

Kashil’s soft brown beard framed a troubled face. His companions loitered menacingly at his elbows. Dreibrand guessed that they might be on the verge of running off to join their rebel comrades that very instant. Dreibrand hoped that Kashil’s respect and loyalty would hold fast.

Emboldened by the situation, Kashil did not bother to greet his lord. In his native tongue he demanded, "Lord Dreibrand, what do you mean to do? Do you expect me to watch Atrophane slaughter more of my people? I have already seen enough of that."

Dreibrand understood Kashil’s bitterness. Conquest followed by the lash of slavery had not endeared the Atrophane to Kashil.

"What do you intend to do, Kashil?" Dreibrand retorted. "The time has come for you to play your part in the future that we discussed."

"I never discussed standing by while you hold Bostas captive," he hissed.

Confronted by Kashil’s justified anger, Dreibrand felt his heart beating hard. If he could not get the faith of one escaped slave, then how could he negotiate peace with the Bostas? Failure meant Dreibrand would have to conquer again an already oppressed people. Even if that were the more practical option, the red memory of Atarek’s blood commanded Dreibrand to seek peace with his every effort.

Dreibrand gestured to the camp of rys and Nufalese warriors. "Do I not keep them protected by our comrades, Kashil?" he asked. "There is no other Atrophane here who would give them less than death."

Kashil dug deep within the festering heap of his resentments, but he could not find genuine hostility for Dreibrand. Kashil considered Dreibrand to be much more than an Atrophane. He was the Lord of Nufal, and Kashil believed that no one could hope to live under a better or braver leader.

"My Lord, we cannot endure this test," Kashil said for himself and his associates. "We cannot stand still as this army prepares to go kill our Bosta brothers."

Dreibrand identified with his torment. He recalled vividly the Atrophane men who had died on the edge of his sword, and he would never wish such an abomination on Kashil.

"Those prisoners will be free soon. I mean to release them so they can take a message to those who occupy the fort, and I will try very hard to spare the rebels who have taken the fort. You, Kashil, will help me do it," Dreibrand said.

Kashil blinked hard as equal doses of surprise and doubt claimed his emotions. Dreibrand explained to him that he would position the army around the fort but stall the attack. During the delay, Kashil would speak with the prisoners.

Urgently, Dreibrand detailed the interrogation assignment. "Learn from them the status of the Bosta Territory. Tell them that I will spare the lives of the men in the fort if they will peacefully surrender. You must convince them that I am sincere—because I am." He looked earnestly into the Bosta’s brown eyes, trying to show him that he truly did not want to shed blood.

Daunted by the task, Kashil glanced at his friends. "It will not work," he whispered.

Dreibrand said, "You are my ambassador to the rebels. Show them that you trust me and urge them to talk instead of fight. Only your voice will give credit to my offers."

Kashil shook his head with increasing dismay. "Lord Dreibrand, if I do this, you must hold your army back. Give them a chance to leave the fort ahead of you."

Dreibrand measured his response carefully and then said, "I do not want the rebels to get away, Kashil. Once I gain control of the fighters in the fort, I will have a better chance of returning peace to the region."

Kashil clearly did not want to relent on the issue, and Dreibrand sought to convince him with harsh truths. "I must regain the fort and take the rebels into custody. Nothing less will satisfy the Atrophane at this moment, and I must maintain my control of them for all our sakes."

"You cannot play both sides," Kashil declared.

Dreibrand wished that Faychan was present to argue the point. "But I must. If I had not taken control of the Atrophane, our homes would be looted right now, and if I do not gain control of the Bosta Territory, the Atrophane will continue to repress the region and your people will suffer. Help me take over here, Kashil, and everyone will get what they need," Dreibrand insisted passionately.

Kashil turned away and saw the Atrophane soldiers packing up their camp with ominous enthusiasm. He had already tolerated their company because of his loyalty to Dreibrand, and he knew that without Dreibrand’s authority, nothing would restrain the Atrophane from harming the Bosta people. The relationship of conqueror and conquered had taken hold in the region, which was why Kashil had chosen to leave his hopeless home in the first place.

The future was often birthed on predator-filled calving grounds, but the risks were always worth the chance to renew life. Kashil decided to give his best efforts to supporting Dreibrand plans, but he sought validation of earlier discussions. "If I support you, Lord Dreibrand, you must end martial law. And no more slaving," Kashil said.

Dreibrand offered his hand without hesitation. "I promise," he said.

Kashil glanced at his companions. Despite their discomfort, they were loyal to Dreibrand and willing to accept his word. Kashil took his lord’s hand and affirmed the deal.

Committed as he was, Kashil pushed ahead with his questions about troubling details. How did Dreibrand plan to spare rebel lives? Surely the Atrophane soldiers would seize any excuse to kill, Kashil argued. A situation so delicate could easily become a massacre despite the best intentions of wise leaders.

Dreibrand answered that they needed the rys to help them.

Kashil sighed. Despite his reservations about the odd and volatile ways of the rys, their help seemed the best supplement to his untested diplomacy. Kashil advised his companions to monitor the rebel captives while he went with Dreibrand to talk to the rys.

They found the rys casually saddling their horses, conspicuously lacking the urgency with which the Atrophane prepared for travel. The rys were unencumbered by the anger of the Atrophane or the worry of the Nufalese.

Dey greeted Dreibrand and Kashil pleasantly as if he had not seen the impaled soldiers and overtaken a scouting party earlier that day.

"I am excited to be so close to the Atrophane Empire," Dey said. "I have heard so much about it, and I never dreamed of treading so far from my native mountains."

Although Dreibrand appreciated the enthusiasm of the rys for his journey, he said, "Dey, I have come to ask for your help. You have seen the fort and know what I must do."

The demeanor of the rys became reserved. "You have your army, Lord Dreibrand. You shall take the fort if you want it," Dey said.

"But, Dey, I do not want to kill them," Dreibrand said.

"They my people," Kashil added in the western language that the rys understood.

Dreibrand explained to Dey his plan to release the captives and attempt to initiate negotiation with the rebels in the fort. "But if the Bostas refuse to surrender the fort peacefully, please help us like you helped me today with the scouts, but on a larger scale," Dreibrand said. "I know two hundred rys soldiers with their spells can overwhelm two hundred men."

Dey broke eye contact with the human lord. He occupied himself with his horse and removed a tangle from the animal’s wavy white mane. "We did not come to fight for forts. Only to see more of the world," he said.

"You have the power to prevent a battle that will take many lives on both sides," Dreibrand reminded.

Dey hesitated uncomfortably, but he could not find a good reason to deny Dreibrand’s request. The rys believed that Dreibrand was sincere about trying to avert suffering. "I will help you," he decided. "And I will ask the others to help. I cannot order them, but my magic is respected and I think that many will listen to me."

"Do the best that you can, Dey," Dreibrand said gratefully. "And Kashil and I will try to convince the rebels in the fort that they must surrender to me. I still have hope that negotiation can work. And even if it fails today, I will keep trying. But I do have another favor to ask of you, Dey."

The rys looked wearily at the human lord who commanded thousands but seemed to only want his help.

"It is a small favor," Dreibrand encouraged. "When we reach the fort and I send my captives into it, please meditate and watch what happens. The more information I have, the better."

The ease of the favor relieved Dey, who had expected a request for a more imposing task. "Yes, I can do that, Lord Dreibrand, but I do not know the language of these people. Such things are not my talent. I will have little to report," he said.

Untroubled by the warning, Dreibrand said, "That is fine, Dey. Just find their leader. This you can do without knowing the language. Find him and learn who he is."

Dey nodded and he guessed Dreibrand’s larger plan.

15. Rebellion and Defiance

Metchlan was a man committed to his people. During six years of occupation, he had toured the camps of bandits and refugees and sown dissent in the villages until the entire territory had yielded fighters for the rebel cause. And when the inevitable Atrophane counterattacks had come, the Wilderness had provided the perfect place for the rebel groups to hide.

His rebels did more than prowl the forests now, and Metchlan enjoyed the view from his new fort. The news of the Wilderness fort’s seizure would surely excite the passions of the whole territory. The Atrophane clung nervously to the settlements, knowing their grip on the people slipped with each day. His goal of full insurrection would soon be achieved.

Standing on the balcony of the well-appointed main building, he watched his second-in-command ride through the gates. Expecting good news, Metchlan rushed off the balcony to greet his comrade personally. He came down the stairs with swaggering ease. Tall and broad shouldered, he had become a denizen of the Wilderness in the years since the conquest. He wore deerskin beneath his stolen and redecorated Atrophane armor. The patches of fur that he had fashioned into epaulets he claimed to be taken from a fenthakrabi. He wore two swords, one at his hip and one slung across his back even though he only had one hand. The story was that he had chopped it off himself in order to escape the shackles of the Atrophane. He had actually lost his left hand in battle, but he never denied the other story because it was more inspiring to his beleaguered people.

"Tamzel!" Metchlan called happily as his second-in-command strode into the building. The men embraced. Their congratulatory mood had yet to dispel since taking the fort fourteen days ago.

"Metchlan, I have spread word of our great victory from here to the river," Tamzel declared. "Finally we have fired the hearts of our people. They will join us when we strike at Droxy."

Metchlan laughed. "The Atrophane still have not sent Parlim any reinforcements from the south?" he asked.

"I hear no word of it and see no sign of it," Tamzel reported.

"Ah, we must drink to the Darhet again tonight," Metchlan joked. Tamzel and the other rebels in the lobby chuckled. Although they shared a deep hatred of any Atrophane lord, they credited Sandin’s bizarre departure into the Wilderness with making their recent advances possible. The rebels rarely spoke of the "dark ones" who had been in Sandin’s company. During the summer and autumn, the Bosta rebels had observed the Atrophane forces that came in masses from the south. At first, Metchlan and his comrades had assumed that the Atrophane were preparing to brutally repress the region. However, the talk in Droxy taverns had told of two creatures called tabre with whom the Darhet was in league. Jingten, everyone had said. Jingten was the goal of the creatures.

As Metchlan had learned about the tabre, he compared them to stories about rys that were told by the Atrophane explorers. From all accounts, the lore about the spawn of the old gods ruling the Wilderness seemed to be true. Metchlan had considered starting the story that the tabre were Wilderness spirits who had come to lure the Atrophane away from the Bostas, who respected the land. It would be to his benefit if he could appear to be sanctioned by the powers of the Wilderness against the Atrophane. Yet, Metchlan had hesitated to invoke the powerful creatures.

Another rebel entered the lobby, and the concern on his face contrasted with the jovial mood of the others. His name was Ofner and he spent his summers growing crops and his winters harassing Atrophane occupiers. He hurried to give Metchlan his report because he sensed that his leader would start celebrating early tonight.

"Sir," he said respectfully. "I wanted to let you know that the patrol you sent west has not returned. The sun is going down. I thought maybe someone should go look for them."

All the rebels in the lobby quieted.  Although imperial occupation had forced the Bosta fighters into the fringe of the Wilderness, only necessity had prompted their boldness. The rebels had not forsaken their culturally imposed fear of the Wilderness. They had only learned to cope with it better.

"Yes, send men to look for them," Metchlan said. "Send ten men."

Metchlan’s decisive response seemed to lessen the chill of superstition among the men. Ofner left to assemble the search party, and Metchlan invited his second-in-command upstairs.

While climbing the steps with his leader, Tamzel said quietly, "Why did you send a patrol farther west?"

Disappointed by the question, Metchlan replied that it was important to know the status of the land beyond the fort.

They reached the landing and started up the next flight of stairs before Tamzel commented, "Some of the men think that it is best to only go as far west as we need to."

"Tamzel, do not worry. If the Atrophane go all the way to Jingten and back, I can send a patrol out for the day," Metchlan said. "The patrol is only a little bit late. They will be knocking on the gates before dinner is cold, I assure you of that."

Tamzel decided to trust in his leader’s confidence. Just a few years ago, neither of them would have dreamed of ranging into the Wilderness, and now their strategy included control of the land.

In the main upstairs apartment, Metchlan and Tamzel flopped dramatically into two cushy chairs. Bound by many years of friendship, they looked at each other and laughed. Their rugged rebel garb contrasted with the glossy upholstery. They were like grubby children playing in a formal parlor.

Moving past his amusement, Metchlan inquired about the status of his forces secreted in the forest near Droxy. Tamzel reported that they were ready to attack the town, if the weather stayed dry.

"Ah, I had rather gotten used to playing the lord of the fort, but I suppose I shall have to move on," Metchlan said.

A horn bellowed outside the fort. The stealthy rebels rarely used the overt signal, and the blatant blasts could only mean that one of their comrades needed urgently to raise the alarm.

"What can be the trouble?" Tamzel said. "The forest is empty except for us."

Metchlan sprang to his feet. His survival-tested nerves bristled with readiness. "Damn!" he swore vehemently, knowing intuitively that the danger was most likely the Atrophane war host returning.

"Damn!" he shouted again. He had not expected the Darhet to be back so soon. The Atrophane’s grand scheme to conquer Jingten must not have gone as planned.

The rebel leader rushed downstairs and out of the building. Men were running out of barracks and banging up the steps to the stockade catwalk. Four men scrambled to bar the gate as Ofner’s search party galloped back into the fort. Metchlan ran to the nearest ladder and mounted the catwalk. He peered across the land to the west. The grasses were dull with the coming of winter and he saw nothing.

Another man on the stockade cried out and pointed toward the forest. Metchlan turned toward the southeast and saw rows of soldiers emerging from the distant tree cover. The dark squares of Atrophane banners were just discernible.

Metchlan bounded down from the catwalk and met Ofner, who was running toward him.

"Metchlan, an Atrophane army is attacking!" Ofner said. "They are coming at us from the eastern forest. We are cut off. We have no time to escape," he said.

Tamzel ran to his leader’s side and overheard the bad news. "Escape!" he snarled. "We will defend our fort."

"We may want to be practical." Metchlan said quietly.

"No! You said the night we took this fort marked the rise of our cause. ‘The time of hiding is over. The time of reclaiming has come,’" Tamzel quoted fervently.

"I do not need to be reminded of my words," Metchlan snapped, but he recognized more than ever how much Tamzel had needed the inspiration of success. His loyal partner did not want to go back into hiding. He wanted to go forward. All the Bostas needed progress.

"I see more of them!" a man yelled from the catwalk and cries of alarm echoed him from all sides of the fort. Atrophane cavalrymen were rushing ahead of the infantry to encircle the fort, and, as Ofner had reported, they had no time to escape.

"We will defend our fort," Metchlan announced, agreeing with Tamzel because reality provided no other options.

******

Rage sickened the Atrophane soldiers when they arrived at the fort and saw the wretched corpses of their comrades stuck on poles outside the structure. The bodies cast long scary shadows in the red light of the setting sun. Some of the bluntly pointed poles had tipped under their grisly loads, and the bodies sagged toward the ground in a parody of escape.

"My Lord," Rearden said with a strong dose of impatience. "Let us go attend our dead."

Dreibrand scanned the stockade. Although the fort was sparsely manned, he still spotted the heads of enough rebel archers to make approaching the walls dangerous. "Lieutenant Rearden, let not our dead be bait for more killing," he said. "Do not act until you have my orders."

Rearden growled with frustration. After Fanlyre’s departure, he felt a greater sense of authority and he intended to assert his position. "What reason do we have to wait?" he demanded.

"Your Lord General’s orders are reason enough," Dreibrand said. He locked eyes with Rearden and drilled an unspoken warning into the lieutenant’s mind. Once satisfied that Rearden would be compliant, Dreibrand dismounted. A soldier came forth without being asked and held Dreibrand’s horse. The dutiful act was not lost on Rearden, who was disgusted by the obedience that the soldiers granted Dreibrand.

"You will hold your position, Lieutenant, while I interrogate my captives," Dreibrand said.

Rearden muttered his acceptance of the order without making eye contact.

Dreibrand walked to where Kashil had detained the captives behind the Atrophane lines. They were still bound but off their horses and seated on the ground. Dreibrand joined Faychan, who stood behind the captives. The backs of the rebels were to them, and Dreibrand could see Kashil’s serious face as he spoke to the prisoners. The slouched shoulders and turned heads of the rebels displayed their resistance to the conversation that Kashil was attempting to have with them.

Faychan observed the hopeful longing on Dreibrand’s face as he watched Kashil with the prisoners. Faychan suspected that Dreibrand actually believed that he had a chance to obtain the fort through bloodless negotiation. As much as that lofty goal might comfort his lord and friend, Faychan would not allow it to distract Dreibrand.

In the western language, Faychan said, "Dreibrand, those rebels in there are not going to hand over the fort."

Not surprised by the skepticism, Dreibrand responded, "It is important that I make my offer of mercy and friendship before I attack."

Thoughtfully, Faychan nodded. Dreibrand was taking the proper steps. If they were going to nurture alliances in the Bosta Territory, then overtures of peace had to be made, but the carnage around the fort proved the rancor of the rebels toward the Atrophane, which lessened the chance of them being receptive to Dreibrand.

Kashil looked up to Dreibrand with a discouraged face. Dreibrand quietly asked Faychan to begin gathering grappling hooks from the army’s supplies and then to tell Dey to get ready to meditate.

After Faychan left to take care of his business, Dreibrand moved around the rebels so that he could face them. When the two Bostas recognized the Atrophane lord who had captured them, they expected the interrogation to intensify. They assumed that they had only been brought so close to the fort so that their comrades could hear their tortured screams. Grim courage settled over their defiant faces.

Trying not to look at their bound hands and feet, Dreibrand said, "I am Dreibrand Veta, Lord of Nufal. I believe that Kashil has explained to you my offer."

"We have heard the lies of your slave," one of the captives snarled.

Kashil bristled at the insult, and Dreibrand pitied the position that he forced the loyal man into.

"I have no slaves," Dreibrand said. "What are your names?"

The captives said nothing, but Kashil provided the answer. "Alan and Damesh."

Dreibrand asked Kashil if he had learned from them about the status of the rest of the territory.

Kashil shook his head. "They will tell me nothing, not even the name of who is commanding that fort, but if you want my opinion, Lord Dreibrand, I doubt they have much more than this remote fort. These rebels are hardly more than bandits."

The comment prompted searing looks from both rebels. The exchange educated Dreibrand about the complexities of Kashil’s motivations. He surmised that Kashil did not respect the rebels even if he wanted to fight for his country.

Dreibrand decided not to waste time on grinding answers from the surly captives. Addressing them again, he said, "Confirm for me the message you will take to your leader," he said.

"Choke on your message!" Alan shouted. "You would have us walk out to our slaughter." He kicked at the ground and a chunk of dirt landed on Dreibrand’s boots.

"Fool!" Kashil exclaimed. "The wisdom and fairness of Dreibrand Veta are your only chances. If you love your master, make him believe the offer from the Lord of Nufal. I would not deceive you. I am a native-born Bosta. My family is Novalstan from across the river, and I have my Lord’s promise to end martial law and the slaving. He is not like the other Atrophane lords. He is far greater than them all."

The praise flattered Dreibrand, but he could see that it had little effect upon the captives.

"I must know that you understand my offer before I can set you free," Dreibrand said.

Damesh, being more practical than his companion, said that he would tell his leader that Dreibrand Veta would spare the lives of all fighters in the fort if they would come out and surrender themselves into his custody.

"Very good, Damesh," Dreibrand said. "And add this: I have killed Sandin Promentro and taken control of his army. Let us be bound in rejoicing in the death of this common enemy. The Lord of Nufal has come to make friends with his closest neighbors, the Bostas."

Damesh’s mouth dropped open as he heard the bizarre news. He asked what Nufal was.

"Did you listen to nothing I said?" Kashil complained. "It is the Wilderness. It is where I live in freedom under Lord Dreibrand’s wise leadership."

Having nothing to add to Kashil’s response, Dreibrand said, "Let us get these fellows on their feet."

Kashil reached for Damesh’s bound hands and hauled him up, and Dreibrand grabbed Alan, who struggled. Dreibrand braced himself against the wiry strength of the hostile rebel and yanked him under control.

"You should not close your mind, Alan," Dreibrand admonished and spun him around. "Get moving."

Dreibrand and Kashil drew their swords and prodded the men in the direction of the fort. The captives moved with short quick steps and often stumbled because of the ropes hobbling their ankles. As they passed through the restless Atrophane soldiers, the background grumbling and curses filled the captives with hopelessness.

The soldiers were positioned around the fort just out of bowshot, and Dreibrand pushed his captives beyond his encircling army. Darkness granted them decent protection from archers as long as they were quiet.

The strong odor of hanging bodies wafted toward them on the evening breeze. Dreibrand struggled against the hate and revulsion that surged from his heart like bats flapping from their caves at sunset. He clung tenaciously to his desire for peace and reminded himself that if he did not commit himself to that path, more people, Atrophane and Bosta, would suffer and die.

He took out his ivory handled dagger and started to cut the captives loose while Kashil held them. To lessen the chance of being kicked or hit, Dreibrand severed their bonds from behind.

Dreibrand pointed with his dagger toward the gates that could not be seen in the dark. "Go. Return to your comrades and give my message to your leader."

The freed rebels said nothing and ran toward the fort. After a moment, Dreibrand and Kashil heard them yell to be let in. The gates did not open, but ropes were dropped down and Alan and Damesh climbed up the wall.

"Thank you for your help, Kashil," Dreibrand said.

"I don’t know that I did much good," Kashil muttered.

"We will keep trying," Dreibrand said. "Your diplomatic skills may yet save many lives."

Looking a little embarrassed, Kashil reverted to his cheerful nature. He muttered, "That is a lot to hope for. I am only a farmer."

"Someday, you might be remembered as the father of your country," Dreibrand encouraged.

Kashil actually laughed. "I am not sure if I would want to claim the child," he said.

Dreibrand smiled sympathetically. He could relate to being frustrated by his homeland.

Dreibrand started back toward his army, but Kashil paused to ponder the dark fort occupied by his countrymen. When did I ever think this was a good idea? he wondered with a sigh and then followed Dreibrand. 

 Lieutenant Rearden waited to intercept them. The release of the captives incensed the officer, and he boldly spoke his mind. "Can we storm the gates now, my Lord? Your pitiful envoy, quite frankly, is an affront to all sense. You have given back two men who will act to kill us."

Kashil almost expected Dreibrand to strike the rude man. The wrangling between Dreibrand and the high lieutenant had been quite public during the whole journey, and Dreibrand’s restraint with the troublesome man amazed Kashil.

Calmly, Dreibrand asked Kashil to help Faychan get ready.

As Kashil walked by Rearden, he glanced at the lieutenant and wondered how long the officer could avoid the consequences of insubordination.

Unintimidated, Rearden said, "My Lord speaks the language of our enemy well."

"We will have no peace and security without communication," Dreibrand said.

"You plot with our enemies," Rearden accused.

Without a comment in his defense, Dreibrand walked to his horse and removed his canteen from his gear. He quaffed a big drink of water. Stress had made him very thirsty.

After the refreshing drink, Dreibrand grinned at Rearden, which infuriated the man. "I better give you permission to speak freely, Lieutenant." Dreibrand said.

Without hesitation Rearden complained, "I am not the only man disgruntled by your slow response to this insult to the Empire."

"No, I suppose not, but a Lord General often has to inflict patience upon his soldiers," Dreibrand responded.

Inflamed by how Dreibrand flaunted his status, Rearden said bluntly, "I want to avenge those soldiers hanging on poles."

"Avenge?" Dreibrand said and pointed into the dark toward the rotting bodies. "From the Bosta perspective, that is vengeance for the many Bostas that I once killed. Where does it end, Lieutenant? Do we just kill and kill? The Atrophane Empire is about civilization, or at least that is what I was taught. Perhaps that is just an excuse to kill other people. When I was killing Bostas, I did not care about any of that—but now I do."

Rearden had not paused to think that the conflict in the Bosta Territory had been going on for years, and that the Atrophane had started it.

Deciding to relent from his criticism and try a more persuasive approach, Rearden said, "If my Lord does not want vengeance, I can agree to call it something else, but those dead soldiers deserve for us to do something."

 "Yes, they do," Dreibrand agreed. "They also deserved for your Darhet to leave enough soldiers to keep this fort out of rebel hands to begin with. Was that even discussed before you let the tabre lead you away by your noses?"

Abashed, Rearden did not answer. In the manic days before marching into the Wilderness, the Darhet had placed no priority on the defense of existing imperial territory. Tempet and Alloi had offered Jingten, and the potential of that prize had made everything else seem trivial.

With a chastened tone, Rearden said, "My Lord, because you do agree that something should be done, then let us storm the fort."

Dreibrand asked the lieutenant if he had ever stormed a fortification.

"I saw war enough in the north," Rearden said defensively.

Refusing to allow Rearden to ignore the gaps in his experience, Dreibrand said, "Lieutenant, I know that you have seen battle, but you have not taken a fortress. Yes, we can take that fort. We have superior numbers and the fort is poorly manned.   However, the rebels still have the protection of the fort, and they would be able to kill many soldiers before we prevailed."

"No one is afraid to fight this fight," Rearden insisted.

"I know, but it is my duty to use the lives of my soldiers wisely, especially when I do not know the status of the rest of the territory," Dreibrand said. "Do you remember that part of your training? Your soldiers have the duty to obey you, but you have the duty to lead them well. That is the lesson Sandin Promentro forgot. That is why this army follows me today."

Rearden, when he looked past his hostility, could actually respect Dreibrand’s military experience, but he could not put the pierced bodies of Atrophane soldiers out of his mind. "Please, my Lord, I ask for the opportunity to learn assaulting a fort. Give me this battle. It must be done," he said.

Rearden’s attempt to be sneaky amused Dreibrand, who imagined how the lieutenant would love taking direct command of the troops and then possession of the fort. "I may yet avoid spending the lives of my soldiers in that manner, Lieutenant," Dreibrand said.

Too frustrated to maintain his ingratiating facade, Rearden declared, "Keep wasting time on your precious negotiations, and I will spend those lives for you."

Provoked by the direct challenge, Dreibrand hurled his canteen at Rearden’s feet. Barely keeping himself from grabbing the unruly officer, he glared at Rearden and lectured him. "Do not speak so lightly of spending their lives. I begged for the lives of these men. I begged the King of Jingten to spare them—and you—from tormented limbo for the next thousand years! I did not do it so I could watch them die scaling the walls of their own fort."

Reminded of the horror that had nearly consumed them all, Rearden was embraced again by the uselessness of opposing Dreibrand. The nearby soldiers were openly staring at him as the Lord General upbraided him. Many of the soldiers actually believed that they owed Dreibrand their lives, but Rearden resented the suggestion that he was beholden to him. Rearden suspected that Dreibrand had only twisted a horrible situation to his advantage and deserved no thanks.

Dreibrand picked up his canteen and calmed himself. He brushed the dirt off it and said, "We will have the fort soon and attend to the Atrophaney dead, Lieutenant. I am planning an assault with rys volunteers that should prevent the deaths of our men and gain me the captives that I want. By morning, I expect that we will occupy the fort and the dead will be given a decent burial. Would that satisfy you, Lieutenant Rearden?"

Plagued by Dreibrand’s superior tactics, Rearden could not argue against a course of action that could bring the necessary outcome and protect Atrophane soldiers. Reluctantly, he replied, "Yes, my Lord."

Dreibrand hung his canteen on his saddle and walked away. He judged that the lieutenant remained under control, which would suffice.

 Dreibrand entered the rys section of the siege lines and found Dey in trance. Blue light burned within the rys’s half-closed eyes and glowed on his nose and lips. While Dreibrand waited for Dey to finish his meditation, Faychan showed up and informed Dreibrand that he had assembled strike teams of rys and Nufalese warriors and distributed grappling hooks.

"How many rys volunteered?" Dreibrand asked.

"Seventy," Faychan replied, and when he saw Dreibrand’s disappointment, he added, "It will be enough."

Grateful that any of the rys were willing to help, Dreibrand did not complain.

"We are a bit worried that the sho darts have lost their potency," Faychan mentioned.

"They should still be potent for another week or so," Dreibrand said.

"Yes, I suppose," Faychan said. "If you like, I could go test one on Rearden."

Approval for the offer flickered in Dreibrand’s eyes, but he told Faychan that it would not be necessary. 

Faychan frowned as usual when Dreibrand ignored his daily hint to get rid of Rearden. "When should we start the attack?" Faychan asked.

"Not until late," Dreibrand said.

Dey suddenly emerged from his trance. The rys lurched to his feet and swayed drunkenly until one of his rys friends supported him.

Dreibrand and Faychan moved closer to the rys and waited expectantly as Dey regained his bearings. With the magical fire dwindling from his eyes, Dey took a deep renewing breath and lifted his head.

"I watched the messengers go to their leader," Dey reported. "The rebels laughed. I am sorry, Lord Dreibrand, but I believe that your offer will be ignored. They do not believe you. I felt in those men that they would rather die fighting than be tricked by you and die. Even without knowing their words, this feeling was clear in their voices and in their minds."

"We will give them a little while more to change their minds," Dreibrand said. "What can you tell me about the leader?"

"They called him Metchlan," Dey replied.

Dreibrand’s eyes lit up and Faychan cracked a grin. They could not have hoped for better news. The leader of the entire Bosta rebel movement was within their grasp.

"He will be your target, Dey. I want him alive," Dreibrand said.

******

 A grappling hook and rope arched over the stockade. The metal hooks landed with a sharp plunk, scraped across the catwalk, and caught firm on the timbers. The rebels nearest the intruding rope did not stir. Some fighters farther down the defensive platform called to their comrades, inquiring about the noise, but received no answer.

One rebel moved cautiously toward the sound. The thin moon had departed the sky, and in the darkness, his foot bumped into a comrade slumped against the stockade. When he examined the fallen man, he did not feel the slick warmth of fresh blood, as he feared. Instead, he heard only the deep breathing of sleep.

Footsteps padded up the timbers of the stockade, but the rebel yawned instead of shouting a warning. A tremendous sleepiness fuzzed his senses, and he tumbled over his snoozing comrade.

A rys soldier swung over the stockade and landed in a crouch on the catwalk. The rope he had used was already pulled tight with the next rys soldier coming up the wall. Outside, at the base of the fort, Dey worked his sleep spells, spreading his irresistible dream among the guards along that stretch of wall. In other places around the fort, rys with strong powers were casting the same spell, so that their comrades could go over the wall without interference.

Dey heard a man cry out on the other side of the fort. With the last of his group on the rope, he ended his spellcasting and started up the wall. Once he was inside the fort, his companions waited while he decided their course. The other groups of rys were rushing the gates, but Dey paused because he sought the rebel leader.

Although strained after casting so many spells, Dey pushed his senses throughout the fort, sorting humans from rys. He located Metchlan among the defenders of the gate.

Dey and his companions ran along the catwalk toward the gate. When a group of rebels opposed them, they fought hand-to-hand. Rys knives took a few lives. Heat spells thwarted other rebels and left them with painful wounds. Dey reserved the sho dart loaded in his pistol for his intended quarry.

Faychan starting leading human warriors from Vetanium over the walls, using the ropes left by the rys. Dreibrand waited with several hundred Nufalese and Atrophane soldiers to enter the gates once they flew open.

Dey joined the fight at the gates. The rebels fought stoutly, but the rys saw more in the hectic torchlight and moved with greater speed and precision. With their superior fighting skills, the rys killed men or overcame them with spells.

Dey’s soldiers protected him from the urgent press of violence as he worked his way toward the lifeforce of Metchlan. The rys heard the rebel leader shouting orders and encouragement. Dey admired his bravery.

The rys fired his sho pistol, but Metchlan moved at that same instant. A rebel next to him lurched and fell to the ground like a block.

Dey hissed with self-reproach. Amid the clash of weapons, he re-loaded his pistol and chose his next shot with greater care.

Metchlan tumbled to the dirt, shocked by his loss of physical control. A boot kicked his face, but he could not even cry out in pain or rage.

Thrilled by success, Dey cast more spells. Other rys joined him and their heat spells cleared their path to the gate. They unbarred the entrance, and Dreibrand was already there with his soldiers. Rys soldiers parted for the entering riders and joined in the round up of surviving rebels. Dey claimed the paralyzed rebel leader and dragged him out of the way. The rys looked into the eyes of the helpless man. Although he could smell the man’s fear, Dey had no wish to hurt him.

The fighting did not last long. The quick lesson in rys superiority undermined the courage of the rebels, and they began to surrender. Dreibrand forbade his Atrophaney soldiers from wanton killing or mutilation. He had them bind the rebels and herd them into a corner of the fortress. Then, Dreibrand placed his Nufalese warriors on guard duty because they would not be tempted to commit acts of vengeance.

Without needing to be given the order, Atrophane soldiers began to remove their dead from the poles, preferring to accomplish the grim task before the light of morning revealed the defiled men.

Dey guarded Metchlan until Dreibrand and Kashil arrived to claim him.

Dreibrand praised Dey for his help that had saved many lives.

"Unfortunately a few Bosta lives were lost to save the many, but I was glad to assist you, Lord Dreibrand," Dey said. 

"We have Metchlan’s stubbornness to credit those losses to," Dreibrand said in the Bosta language and squatted next to his paralyzed prisoner. "Greetings, Metchlan. I am Dreibrand Veta. If you had accepted my earlier offer, you could have met me in a more dignified position."

Metchlan could only respond with a pathetic growl. He still had no comprehension of what had happened to him. He watched with horror as Dreibrand tied his hands.

Kashil helped Dreibrand carry Metchlan into the main building. They locked him in a room, and Kashil volunteered to watch over him while he recovered from the sho.

Atrophane commanders and soldiers were swarming through the main building. When they finished their room-by-room sweep, Dreibrand delegated clean-up tasks and asked to have a report on supplies by morning.

On his way back to the main lobby, Dreibrand stopped by an open door. He poked his torch into the room and the light swirled on a marble desk. He surmised that the slab of Atrophane marble must have been Sandin’s desk. Dreibrand could easily imagine the arrogant face of his old rival gazing across the cool stone.

Dreibrand entered the room. Broken glass from the shattered lamps crunched under his feet. Behind the desk he found the Atrophane banner that had been torn from the wall. He was spreading it over the desk when Rearden walked in.

"Have you come to congratulate me?" Dreibrand said.

Rearden refused to respond to the taunt. He was clearly annoyed to find Dreibrand quickly occupying more of the Darhet’s domain.

Dreibrand almost wished that he could convey to Rearden his discomfort with filling Sandin’s boots. Dreibrand knew that he was shoving himself back into imperial society where he did not fit. The disgruntled look on Rearden’s face confirmed for Dreibrand how difficult it would be to resize the Atrophane ruling class to accommodate him. But Rearden also proved to Dreibrand that not everyone needed to be happy about his reassertion of his noble power. They only needed to accept it.

"Your orders, my Lord?" Rearden said tersely. 

Dreibrand instructed him to establish watch posts and patrols around the vicinity of the fort in order to watch for rebel groups coming out of the forest. Dreibrand had no intention of allowing himself to become besieged.

Rearden waited to be dismissed and then flicked a salute on his way out. He soothed himself with a private vow of defiance even as he went to perform his duties.

16. To Trust in Words

When Cevlead returned from Droxy ten days later, he bore the welcome news that all Bosta towns remained in Atrophane hands. Dreibrand could now safely proceed but he decided to relieve himself of Rearden’s antagonism first. He placed Rearden in command of the fort with eight hundred soldiers and promptly left him in the far-flung outpost as he set out for Droxy with the rest of the army and his valuable captives.

When the rolling woodland of the vale of Droxy opened up before Dreibrand, he considered how much the region had changed in a few short years. He remembered when the locals had dreaded even to probe the forest west of Droxy. Now, the Atrophane had penetrated the Wilderness with a road, complete with an efficient string of switchbacks carved into the great façade of cliffs that marked the edge of the Wilderness. Dreibrand recognized the Atrophaney engineering, but also knew that the efforts of many Bosta slaves had gone into reshaping the blunt land.

The changes evident in the landscape mirrored the alterations that Dreibrand had made to his life. Six years ago, just outside of Droxy, he had cast away his loyalty to Lord Kwan and the Empire and decided that he would follow only his ambitions. Today, he approached the area as a very different man than the censured officer who had deserted in a fit of rage. Dreibrand had seen the western world and endured far greater challenges than social disgrace, but the problems he had run away from remained unsettled business in his heart.

As Dreibrand returned to the eastern world, he confronted fully the aching absence of Shan. Without the rys King’s great influence, demanding a beneficial treaty from the Empire would be fraught with difficulties, but Dreibrand resolved to strive for his goals as best as humanly possible.

His remaining allies offered Dreibrand some comfort. The presence of Faychan and Cevlead, who rode alongside him at the head of the army, boosted Dreibrand’s confidence and assured him of his appeal as a leader. Faychan, who was born of another culture, represented Dreibrand’s ability to win the loyalty of diverse groups. And Cevlead’s willingness to cooperate hopefully formed a gateway to Dreibrand’s future with his homeland.

Dreibrand also expected a warm welcome from Lieutenant Parlim in Droxy. Cevlead had reported that Parlim, who supervised the military occupation of the Bosta Territory, was delighted that Dreibrand was coming with thousands of Atrophane soldiers. Parlim had said that the entire territory was on the verge of insurrection. He had been aware of the fort’s fall to the rebels, but he had been unable to spare any troops to defend the lonely outpost or reclaim it. Parlim’s urgent requests to Holteppa and Phemnalang for reinforcements had yet to be answered.

Cevlead had also recounted how Parlim had railed against the Darhet and said that Sandin had "gotten what was coming to him." Parlim’s deep resentment about having the military strength of the western Empire sucked away on a winter campaign in the north encouraged Dreibrand. He anticipated that Parlim would be receptive to his leadership and bribery.

Only one more local player needed to be aligned to Dreibrand’s purposes. Emerging from his contemplative silence, Dreibrand asked Faychan if he thought that Metchlan was ready to have a serious chat.

"I would expect so," Faychan said. He had watched the rebel leader stew for nearly two weeks since being captured. Dreibrand had not spoken to the man or any of the prisoners. All of them had to assume that they were either being marched back to Droxy for a mass execution, or, at best, shipped off to the slave markets of the south.

Turning to Cevlead, Dreibrand said, "I will need your help tonight with Metchlan."

"What are your plans for the rebel leader?" Cevlead asked.
Dreibrand replied that it depended on what Metchlan had to say that very evening.

"Oh, Gods, it is always some scheme with you," Cevlead muttered.

"Do my dull tactics bore you, Cevlead?" Dreibrand teased. "I know how young officers long for action."

"Forgive me, my Lord. I spoke frivolously. I support the dull tactics," Cevlead said. After weathering three attacks during his trip to Droxy, he had begun to wonder how many rebel skirmishes an Atrophane noble was apt to survive.

******

Metchlan hunkered among his bedraggled comrades. Every night their shivering started a little sooner. The Atrophane built watch fires, but they did not let their prisoners sit close enough to feel any heat.

For the first time in many spiteful years, Metchlan felt deeply demoralized. He still possessed no explanation for the paralysis that had brought him down at the fort, except that the same thing had happened to some other men. He grasped, however, that rys magic had been his undoing.

Upon leaving the fort, Metchlan had expected his supporters hidden throughout the forest to help him, but apparently, the rys soldiers were preventing his rescue as well. Twice, Metchlan had observed rys sentinels rousing the entire Atrophane camp in the night. The soldiers had scrambled to defensive formations, no doubt discouraging an attack. He could no longer fantasize about the spirits of the Wilderness supporting his side, and a terrible sense of doom replaced his hope for escape.

Metchlan expected that his free rebel units had scattered their fighting cells by now. They would be falling back and reassessing, conserving, waiting. Despite his recent big talk, those were the only things that sustained them.

A squad of Atrophane soldiers walked up to Metchlan’s group of prisoners that had just settled down for another night of huddling. "Metchlan! Come forth!" a soldier demanded.

"Come and get him," a prisoner taunted.

In response, an Atrophane soldier randomly slammed the head of the closest prisoner with his spear shaft.

"Metchlan. Move out here!" the soldier repeated.

Metchlan actually sighed. There really was no sense in defying them. The Atrophane were proficient handlers of captives. If he did not come out, they would simply get more men, subdue all the prisoners in his group, and drag him out.

Awkwardly, he hauled his tired body to his feet. In order to restrain his single hand, his arms were bound tightly to his torso, which made getting up and down difficult. As Metchlan picked his way through the captives, worried glances sprouted from his men.

The soldiers grabbed Metchlan and hustled him across the camp. When he walked by other groups of bound prisoners, he tried to check on their condition. A couple voices shouted to him, but he did not respond. It would only cause the Atrophane to punish somebody.

As Metchlan expected, he was taken to Dreibrand, who waited beside a campfire with a young commander, a barbarian, and Kashil.

The soldiers flung Metchlan to his knees.

Metchlan squared his shoulders defiantly when Dreibrand came forward with the blade of his ivory handled dagger exposed.

"Metchlan, are you ready to have a civil conversation?" Dreibrand asked.

"I have nothing of value to tell you, Atrophane. My people will have moved all their bases now that I am captured," Metchlan said, secure in the knowledge that, no matter what was done to him, he could not betray his fighters.

"You misunderstand me," Dreibrand said. He bent down to his prisoner. The hovering soldiers readied themselves to subdue the Bosta if he reacted.

Dreibrand began to cut the bindings off Metchlan’s body. "I will do the same for all the prisoners," he said quietly.

Metchlan burst out of his restraints and popped to his feet. Dreibrand stood back and regarded him patiently. Metchlan looked in all directions but saw no way out.

Dreibrand continued, "I want us to get to know each other better tonight."

Metchlan studied the strange leader who had claimed the Atrophane soldiers, who was followed by foreigners from far lands, and who was supported by the magic creatures of the Wilderness. Although Dreibrand was clearly the potent leader of many warriors, Metchlan stubbornly refused to be awed by him. Dreibrand was an Atrophane, and Metchlan needed little else to form an opinion.  

Dreibrand sheathed his dagger and introduced Cevlead and Faychan. "And you have met Kashil," he added.

Metchlan rubbed his raw wrist on his arm stump. After tossing a disgusted look at Kashil, he snarled, "What do you want, Dreibrand Veta?"

"I want to establish peace," Dreibrand said bluntly.

Metchlan laughed. This Atrophane has a great sense of humor, he thought.

"Is that such a contemptible goal?" Dreibrand said.

Metchlan decided that it was best to play along and hope for a chance to escape. "Fine, we will talk," he said.

Dreibrand invited Metchlan to join him and his associates at the campfire. "Would you care to eat an extra ration? So close to Droxy, I think we can spare a plate," Dreibrand said.

"I have no stomach to eat with Atrophane," Metchlan said.

"As you wish," Dreibrand said and proceeded to state his offer. Metchlan listened impatiently, hearing the words only because he could not block the sound from his ears.

"I respect your rebellion," Dreibrand said. "I know that the Bostas have been treated poorly by the Empire. But you must take a new approach. If you are truly fighting to better the lives of the Bostas, then I am providing you with an opportunity to do something about it. You could fight with the Empire for the next ten years and never get what you want. The Empire is not going to simply right this place off. It represents the cultural destiny of the Atrophane people to control the entirety of the eastern world."

Metchlan groaned with disgust. "What arrogance!" he fumed.

"That may be, but it is your reality," Dreibrand said. "Now, Metchlan, I know you see me as just another Atrophane, but I am more than that. I am the Lord of Nufal. The Atrophane Empire recently invaded my territory, which leaves me with some issues to settle with the Empire. Specifically two: one, that my region be free from military threat, and two, that the imperial censure be lifted from my family name."

"And how may I help you with that?" Metchlan asked sarcastically.

In response to the flippant comment, Dreibrand said, "Well, it is really helping yourself. If we can bring order to the Bosta Territory and end the violence, then, we can get the Empire to listen to our demands. You will negotiate for the Bostas, and I will negotiate for Nufal."

"How nice," Metchlan muttered. He had no intention of making things easy for the Atrophane just because he was a prisoner.

Kashil decided that it was time for Metchlan to start thinking about what Dreibrand said. "Metchlan, you can trust Dreibrand. I know that it is hard for you to believe, but he is a good man. I would not speak for him unless I thought it was the best thing for our people."

"Do not speak of the Bostas as our people," Metchlan corrected. "I am the one fighting for us. I did not run away to lick some Atrophane’s boots."

Kashil absorbed the insult with impressive control. Unapologetic, he said, "I saw no sense in risking myself for a hopeless cause. Lord Dreibrand is right. The Atrophane have come to stay, and you cannot make them leave."

"I was making them leave," Metchlan defended bitterly.

"And that mess you made of men outside the fort made me ashamed. I learned to value life in Nufal," Kashil said.

"They deserved it," Metchlan said.

"Let us not argue that point," Dreibrand interrupted. Once, he had made the tributary waters of the Ramrai flow with Bosta blood, and focusing on the future would be more productive. He continued, "But we can establish that such violence will not occur again. You and I have that power, Metchlan. When we get to Droxy, announce our peace agreement and work with me to gain prosperity and local control for the entire region."

"Me, make a peace agreement?" Metchlan said incredulously. "Why would I bother?"

Dreibrand looked at the grizzled rebel leader. Although unshaven and dirty, Metchlan appeared to have a great deal of endurance left in him. What if I cannot twist that strength to my purposes? Dreibrand asked himself. The answer already waited in his mind. Dreibrand knew he would execute the man, and possibly the two hundred rebel prisoners, if he could not have peace. It was a sickening thought.

"You should bother because I have much more to offer you as a friend. You will not benefit as my enemy," Dreibrand said.

Metchlan wanted to spew his rhetoric about how the Bostas would never be completely subdued, but he recalled how he had lost the fort to the rys. Dreibrand Veta had powerful friends that Metchlan could not easily dismiss.

"Tell me what you did to me at the fort?" Metchlan said.

Dreibrand hoped that Metchlan was becoming curious about the advantages that he had to share. Dreibrand explained the spells and strategies that the rys soldiers had used and emphasized that he had deployed the rys because he wanted to spare Bosta lives. Then, he told Metchlan about the sho dart that had incapacitated him. As he spoke, he drew his pistol and showed Metchlan the dart in the chamber, but did not mention that the effectiveness of the sho was expired. The rebel leader leaned into the firelight, quite fascinated by the wonder that Dreibrand had brought from the western world.

"Sorry about having you darted," Dreibrand said and prudently put his pistol away. "But it was better than killing you. I very much wanted this chance for us to be friends."

Trying to contain his natural antagonism, Metchlan considered how Dreibrand had spared him and his men, even with merciless carnage displayed around the fort. Metchlan dared to hint that he might cooperate. "If you want to be my friend, release my men right now," he said.

"I am willing to do that," Dreibrand stated.

Taken aback by the congenial response, Metchlan wondered if he was under the influence of another rys potion. This mad man just might let my fighters go, Metchlan thought.

Dreibrand continued, "I do, however, need you to come to Droxy with me. I will allow you an honor guard."

"I am not going to Droxy with you," Metchlan said. He was eager to reunite with his rebels and continue the fight.

"Yes you are. And you will send your fighters home," Dreibrand said. "Be grateful that you and your men have any choice other than marching into that town as prisoners."

"You expect threats to gain my friendship?" Metchlan complained.

"If you insist on remaining an enemy, then you have my threats. A friend, however, will receive my promises," Dreibrand said.

When Metchlan demanded to hear some friendly promises, Dreibrand said, "I will set your men free tonight. It will be my gesture to you so you will take my friendship seriously. When we reach Droxy, I will set up my base of operation and demand a diplomatic delegation from the Empire to hear our grievances. I am willing to support relieving the Bostas of the oppression they have endured. I doubt that you will ever find another ally. I will also promise to close all slave markets in the territory as soon as I can arrange it."

Kashil beamed with admiration for Dreibrand. "And you will free all the slaves, Sir?" he asked.

Although Dreibrand wanted to oblige Kashil, he knew that he could not strap that extra burden onto his agenda. He regretfully replied, "That is a far more difficult issue that I am not prepared to involve myself in, Kashil. Both Atrophane and Bostas own slaves. I will only commit to stopping the future bondage of others."

Poignant disappointment replaced Kashil’s momentary elation.

"It is a start, Kashil," Dreibrand said and the Bosta nodded with emotional frustration. But Kashil knew too well what they were up against. He remembered the doors shut in his face when he had been a fugitive slave, and he remembered whose door had been open after he crossed the Wilderness with two companions seeking the rumor of a free land.

Despite watching the sincere exchange between Atrophane and runaway slave, Metchlan believed that he was simply being baited with false promises. "You just want me as a hostage to keep my fighters under control," he said.

"Not at all, Metchlan. Your willingness to be my guest will show your commitment to our peace deal. It will also position you publicly as the representative of Bosta sovereignty," Dreibrand said. He then raised his eyebrows encouragingly and added, "You do have political ambitions?"

The question completely nonplussed the rebel leader. He had devoted himself to punishing his conquerors as much as possible, but he had rarely envisioned success beyond driving the Atrophane out of his homeland. When asked though, he certainly wanted to stay in power no matter the situation.

Metchlan, however, was not inclined to trust his sworn enemies. He glanced at Faychan who watched silently from the other side of the campfire. The flicker of orange light was warm on his brown skin. What makes that barbarian follow this Atrophane? Metchlan wondered. And what makes this Atrophane trust an outsider?

Growing curious about heretofore unimagined possibilities, Metchlan asked Dreibrand why he cared so much about Bosta suffering.

Dreibrand said. "I want to secure my territory from imperial aggression. I will be stronger with an alliance to the Bostas and you will be stronger with an alliance to Nufal. We all have significant stakes in the future of the land between here and the Rysamand. If we work together, our regional control will be that much more secure. That is really why I want to cut you into the deal, and well, it seems the Bostas might be happier with a native ruler."

Metchlan could not hide his confusion and doubt. He had not prepared mentally for this situation. Deciding to focus on the prisoner release, Metchlan said, "Very well, Dreibrand Veta, release my men."

"Then, you agree to a full truce?" Dreibrand pressed. "There must be no acts of violence or seizure of property between the Bostas and the Atrophane. I must have your promise to promote the peace so I can arrange for an official negotiation session with imperial representatives. Realistically, that will not happen before spring."

"And just how do you mean to get the Empire to recognize that I am the ruler of an independent Bosta Territory?" Metchlan demanded because this was the detail that interested him.

"We have the next few months to plot our strategies during your stay in Droxy," Dreibrand said evasively.

"Months? So, I am your hostage," Metchlan complained.

"You will choose to stay with me in Droxy," Dreibrand said cheerfully, really enjoying having the upper hand.

Metchlan quelled the nasty words that came to mind. Serving the purposes of an Atrophane made his blood boil, but he had to take his chance to save his men.  

"I will choose to stay in Droxy," he muttered, still convincing himself to cooperate.

"And order your followers to accept peace," Dreibrand added.

"They may not all obey. Us Bostas do not have the benefit of your famous Atrophaney discipline," Metchlan said.

Dreibrand chuckled. "Perhaps our discipline has been overrated," he said. "I understand that peace may not come easily, but it cannot come at all without your help. I have given you my promises. Do I have your agreement to try this?"

"Yes," Metchlan said tersely.

The rebel leader’s tone hardly inspired confidence, but Dreibrand expected to win the man over eventually.

"Let us go set free your men," Dreibrand said briskly. He signaled to Cevlead who left immediately.

Cevlead had not been able to follow the fast Bosta conversation, but apparently, Dreibrand had gained the outcome that he wanted. Because the Atrophane soldiers would certainly dislike losing their prisoners, Cevlead went to relieve the Atrophane soldiers on guard duty and replace them with Dreibrand’s warriors and rys volunteers.

After the guards had been changed, Faychan and Kashil consolidated the prisoner groups. The Bostas feared that they were being assembled for a massacre, and their snapping nerves warmed their cold stiff bodies.

No one expected the speech that Metchlan gave after Dreibrand presented him to his gathered fighters. 

The rebel leader stepped forward. He looked back once at Dreibrand with resentment for being bested. Metchlan wanted to say anything except what he had agreed to say, but Dreibrand’s fluency in Bosta dialects prevented any treachery at this time.

Inwardly, Metchlan admitted that the pathetic sight of his thin tattered rebels, bound and without hope of rescue, justified his decision. Returning these brave and loyal fighters to freedom was worth surrendering himself to Dreibrand.

This Atrophane bastard better keep his word, Metchlan thought. Or, I will do worse by him than anyone I have ever killed.

Metchlan announced, "Our repeated displays of strength and determined resistance have finally achieved the weakening of the Atrophane forces in our territory. The Empire is ready to listen. I will join Dreibrand Veta, the Lord of Nufal, in a negotiation with the Empire. So that Atrophane diplomats will dare to come speak to me, I declare a truce between us and the Atrophane. The fighting stops tonight. Lord Veta seals this peace deal by setting you free. Go home and await the results of my conversation with the Empire. Tell your comrades that they must stop all attacks. No arms will be lifted or our property reclaimed until I order it. This peace shall stand until I say otherwise or I die in the company of the Atrophane."

Many cries of surprise and denial erupted from the prisoners. Everyone believed that their leader must have been coerced into declaring a cessation of hostilities.

Metchlan raised his hand and shouted for them to be quiet. He reiterated his decision and insisted that he had made the best choice for all involved.

Nufalese warriors began to pull men out of the prisoner ranks and remove their bonds.

As the first prisoners were set free, Dreibrand said, "Leave this camp now and head to your homes. I have no desire to meet you in conflict again."

With Droxy, its ancillary villages, and no doubt numerous rebel camps within a day’s walk from their location on the road, Dreibrand estimated that he did not cause the freed rebels serious hardship by releasing them without any supplies.

Tamzel stormed toward Metchlan as soon as his hands were loose.

"What have you done?" the second-in-command demanded bitterly.

With Dreibrand looking over his shoulder, Metchlan could not even whisper his true thoughts to his trusted lieutenant.

"It is time to fight in other ways," Metchlan said vaguely.

"We were about to drive them out," Tamzel recalled, still struggling to cope with their obliterated success.

"That situation has obviously changed. It is best that I accept Dreibrand Veta’s invitation to negotiate with the Empire," Metchlan said.

Tamzel’s face fell with disappointment. He knew that his leader had made this bad bargain to save the lives of all of them.

"Be patient with the truce. Trust me," Metchlan said.

Tamzel saw the familiar look in Metchlan’s eyes that still envisioned Bosta freedom. His will to fight was not gone, but only put away for another day.

 Forcing himself to accept what was happening, Tamzel nodded. "You know where to find me," he said and left.

Metchlan asked for volunteers to come to Droxy with him, and he assembled an honor guard. The rest of the men eagerly exchanged Atrophane bondage for the dark primeval forest.

As Dreibrand watched the rebels drift into the night, he hoped that he would not find peace more perilous than war. Alternatives to brutal conquest did exist, but they forced him to trust in the words of others instead of the sharp edge of his sword.

He assigned Faychan to be Metchlan’s permanent companion. It was essential that the rebel leader not discover an opportunity to slip away, and Dreibrand had complete confidence that Faychan could act as a human tether. Fascinated by his new charge, Faychan escorted Metchlan to a campfire where they could share a drink.

After the extended excitement of the prisoner release, the camp grew quiet again. Dreibrand tried to guess what the rebels, trotting through the forest, might be thinking about him. Would they carry across the territory praise for the Lord of Nufal?

Cevlead reported to Dreibrand that the release of the prisoners had not overly unsettled the soldiers. "The men know that the rebels fear to approach us because of your rys friends," he said. "They trust your judgment, and I said your wealth was so great that you did not need the hassle of converting captives to profit."

Dreibrand praised him for the apt improvisation. The defection of Cevlead Fanlyre rewarded him every day.

"But we must not trust this rebel leader," Cevlead warned.

"I believe that he will accept the benefits of joining us," Dreibrand said.

Firm in his cynicism, Cevlead argued, "This rebel does not want your win-win situation, Dreibrand. He wants to win and for you to lose."

"If I lose, he loses," Dreibrand said.

Cevlead grumbled under his breath. Although Dreibrand’s idealism had seduced him, Cevlead remained uncomfortable with it as an overall strategy.

Although Dreibrand understood Cevlead’s misgivings, he believed that positive methods for reform deserved a chance. "Cevlead, my alternative was to kill those men. I do not want any more blood on my hands," he confessed, and Cevlead heard the intense grief that lurked inside Dreibrand like a prisoner in a dark dungeon who deserves his chains. "And if I can establish a Bosta Territory that is friendly to Nufal, then I will have achieved a great deal, including saving some Atrophane lives. If you intend to start your settlement, you should want the same."

"I do," Cevlead admitted. He had no desire to perpetuate the violence that complicated their lives. "I believe in your vision."

"Good, and, Cevlead, I do hear your warnings. I know how difficult it will be to get others to believe," Dreibrand said.

"Especially the Bostas," Cevlead insisted.

"Especially the Empire," Dreibrand said.

17. A Treasure of Dreams

Damp clinging fog obscured the landscape as Dreibrand’s army approached Droxy. Dead weeds and grass, heavy with condensation, slumped along the roadsides, and Dreibrand noted the dark trails where feet had recently knocked the water from the old vegetation. His advance was being monitored.

A bleary morning sun nudged the fog lower and revealed the canopy of the ghost-like forest that covered the eastern hills. The old broken fortress that had once been Droxy emerged from the white haze, and, beyond the uneven profile of its stone walls, sprawled the shantytown of the new Droxy. Lines of smoke drifted from the chimneys of the crude frontier town, and Atrophane banners flew from the towers of the military complex. Dreibrand’s soldiers cheered when they saw them.

Down the road, shouting answered their cheers. Through the slowly thinning ground mist, Dreibrand discerned a large crowd pouring out of the town. After more fog burned off and he drew closer, Dreibrand saw that lines of Atrophane soldiers held the locals back. Where the road passed the old fortress, a rider with a mounted honor guard waited to receive Dreibrand. The rider’s helmet and cape marked him as an officer.

"I presume that is Lieutenant Parlim," Dreibrand said, and Cevlead confirmed that he was. 

Dreibrand halted in front of the broken fortress. He and Parlim looked at each other across the short distance. It was a strange situation for both of them.

Dreibrand decided to wait for Parlim to come to him. Appearing almost bored, Dreibrand studied the dismantled stone walls of old Droxy. The final battle of the Atrophaney conquest of the eastern world had happened here. The place made him think of Miranda, who had fled Droxy the night before the Atrophane attack.

His intense longing for Miranda became unmanageable for a moment, and a crushing loneliness consumed him. His only comfort was that Droxy was the last place in the world where she would want to be.

With great effort, he shelved his unhappiness and directed his attention at Parlim, who had come forward with his guards. Dreibrand met Parlim’s eyes and saw the cautious analytical gaze of a man who has been struggling to stay one step ahead of his troubles. Physically, Parlim was a stocky young man with a thick neck. His blonde hair and blue eyes were typical of Atrophanes from the Outer Coast region where Dreibrand had grown up. Dreibrand expected that Parlim would be quite aware of the censure.

Parlim’s first impression of Dreibrand was not what he had expected. The new Lord General was unshaven and his foreign accouterments and lack of Atrophaney insignia unsettled Parlim. He spotted the shifting glow within the crystal orb on Dreibrand’s sword and then the large group of rys behind Dreibrand distracted Parlim completely. Their blue skin and glossy black eyes mesmerized Parlim, taking his imagination beyond any place it had gone before. He had never actually seen the tabre that had entangled Sandin in their plots, but now he understood the truth behind the ubiquitous folklore that warned of the Wilderness. His mind struggled to process the reality of another race, like humans in body but possessing superhuman powers. Realizing that he was gaping like a little boy at the circus for the first time, Parlim composed himself, at least outwardly.

He dearly hoped that Dreibrand was not under rys control and therefore as unreliable as Sandin.

Just take care of yourself this time, Parlim thought, reverting to the most basic human strategy.

Now that he was face-to-face with Dreibrand, Parlim could not quite accept that he was looking at Sandin Promentro’s killer. Authority had not been seized through duel for generations.

But it does not mean that it is not valid, Parlim thought, trying to make his situation acceptable. The banner of the House of Veta hanging by the imperial flag openly declared Dreibrand’s heritage that had once been very worthy. In the days of Atrophane’s last expansion, Parlim had still been a commander in the secondary occupation forces, but he had heard about the battles won by Lord Kwan’s brash young officer. If not for the censure, Dreibrand would have surely become an imperial hero. Instead, he had disappeared.

Even censured, he is a noble, Parlim thought. As a noble himself, Parlim was disinclined to ignore the status conferred by Dreibrand’s birth. And even if Parlim had wanted to hold the censure against Dreibrand, the fact remained that he was desperate for military support. For the sake of maintaining imperial control of the territory, cooperating with Dreibrand Veta was absolutely necessary.

With a clear conscience, Parlim saluted and said, "I am at your service, my Lord General."

Pleased, Dreibrand said, "I congratulate you on doing so well under the circumstances, Lieutenant Parlim. I am glad to inform you that the frontier fort has been restored to the Empire."

"That, my Lord, is excellent news," Parlim said, immensely relieved.

Escalating cries of wonder from the locals demanded Parlim’s attention. The confirmed sighting of rys raised the unruliness of the populace, and people rushed out to see for themselves what others had spotted from across fields or through trees. Finally, the Wilderness revealed its deepest mysteries to the people who had lived cautiously at the edge of the vacant land.  

Parlim dispatched his honor guard to assist the soldiers that corralled the swelling crowd.

"It is the rys, my Lord," Parlim explained. "The town has been in an uproar with the rumor of them since before dawn." He did not take his eyes from the rys as he spoke. He understood the thrilling curiosity and fear that agitated the people even as he controlled them.

Dreibrand decided that he should speak to Dey, and he gestured for Parlim to wait where he was. When Dreibrand moved into the rys group, none of them looked at him. They were observing their spectators with tourist-like interest.

"Dey," Dreibrand said. "It might be best if all the rys accompany me to the military complex for today. Let these people get used to seeing you in small doses at first."

"We mean them no harm, Lord Dreibrand," Dey said while still scanning the crowd.

"I know, but they might act strangely, perhaps violently," Dreibrand explained. "You represent every superstition that they believe in. They know you are magic, but they do not really understand what that means. They are not like the people of the west who know about rys."

Dey faced Dreibrand now. "We will go with you if you think it is best," the rys said.

"I believe some caution is needed," Dreibrand said.

Dey thanked him for the advice, which seemed quite prudent because the residents of Droxy, eager for a closer view, were pressing hard against the lines of Atrophane soldiers.

As Dreibrand returned to Parlim, he noted how some people in the crowd looked at him with awe, presumably because he had just spoken so casually to a rys. Although interested by the local reaction, Dreibrand did not want to linger in public and he resumed his business. "Lieutenant Parlim, I am sure that you have many questions about me. For now, let me give you my promise that my leadership shall be far better than that provided by the late Darhet. I suspect that you agree that he failed in the duties of his high post," Dreibrand said.

Parlim glanced at Cevlead, remembering how unsparing he had been with his criticism when he had met with the commander. His opinion about Sandin had no doubt been made quite clear to Dreibrand.

"My Lord, I will admit that I disagreed with the actions of the Darhet. But in his defense, I think that the tabre made him do what he did," Parlim said quietly. He forced himself not to look at the rys.

"Yes, even I pitied Sandin for that," Dreibrand murmured. "But his weakness is not an excuse for his actions. Five thousand soldiers were lost in the north."

"Commander Fanlyre told me," Parlim said soberly. He had trouble imagining the fury of the rys King that Cevlead had described, but the story had made Parlim discard his jealousy over being left behind in Droxy.

"I cannot undo those incredible losses," Dreibrand said. "But I can put things right in the Bosta Territory."

"Indeed, my Lord, I welcome that task," Parlim said. "We can make much progress against the rebels with the soldiers who survived."

Dreibrand enjoyed the officer’s enthusiasm, but it was time that the peace became public.

"Actually," Dreibrand said. "There will be no fighting, or at least I hope not. You see, Lieutenant, I have established a peace agreement with Metchlan."

He signaled to Cevlead to get the rebel leader, who was hidden far back in the ranks of Dreibrand’s host. Cevlead’s movement cued Kashil and the other Bostas who served Dreibrand to move into the crowd. Their mission was to spread the word that Metchlan himself would soon announce peace.

While Parlim wondered what was about to happen, Dreibrand said, "I expect that the name Metchlan is familiar to you, Lieutenant."

"You have taken him?" Parlim said with considerable excitement. He assumed suddenly that Dreibrand jokingly referred to Metchlan’s capture as a peace agreement.

"He is with me," Dreibrand corrected. "He is going to announce our peace agreement along with his intention to open negotiation with the Empire to settle his problems. This crowd is actually quite fortuitous to my purpose."

"You are kidding," Parlim said and then added a belated "my Lord" when Dreibrand did not laugh.

Patiently, Dreibrand explained, "I have decided that the Empire has been wrong to let this region languish under martial law. Peace is essential to uplifting these people to a proper state of civilization."

The statement naturally shocked Parlim. He had grown accustomed to considering the Bostas as crude hooligans who had no concept of law or proper society.

Then, Parlim saw Cevlead and a barbarian escorting a man who was presumably Metchlan to the front. The ten hardened rebels swaggering behind the amputee leader disgusted Parlim with their confidence. Anger and hatred instantly overran Parlim’s temper.

"Do you have any idea how many people those criminals have killed?" Parlim demanded.

"And without peace, how will the killing ever stop?" Dreibrand responded calmly. He knew that he forced radical change upon a valuable and intelligent officer.

"Incredible," Parlim muttered. He doubted the wisdom of negotiating with rebels, but his distaste for appeasing the Bostas did not warrant opposing the new Lord General. 

Do I really want to dispute the only man who has the power to save me from those rebels? Parlim thought, and he knew his answer.

Metchlan acknowledged Dreibrand with a surly glance. Then, Metchlan locked eyes with Parlim. Although the men had never met, they knew of each other.

"It is good to see you have come to your senses," Parlim said.

Although Metchlan understood the Atrophane words, he grumbled in his tongue, "Lucky for you."

Dreibrand started to explain how he wanted events to play out. Metchlan only half-listened. He knew what he had to do. Metchlan observed the excited crowd. It was good to see his people, but he mostly saw the line of Atrophane soldiers containing them. None of the people seemed to have noticed him yet. They were transfixed by the rys on their white horses.

Dreibrand concluded, "After Metchlan and I finish our speeches, Lieutenant, we will proceed to the military compound. Have quarters prepared for myself and my warriors, including the rys. And Metchlan and his men will need a secure place to stay."

Parlim resigned himself to the laundry list of requirements.  

Dreibrand moved toward the crowd and viewed the people over the heads and spears of the Atrophane soldiers. The Droxy residents were an impoverished lot, but the Bostas had never done more than eke a living from a remote land. The women’s clothing reminded him sharply of Miranda. She had worn such peasant garb when they met. A vivid memory of her skirt flying high above her running feet stormed his mind. That had not been a good day, but at least he had been with her.

Dreibrand introduced himself to the people. He was not surprised when they did not cheer in welcome. Although he spoke Bosta well, they did not care to have any Atrophane address them. He explained that he had replaced Sandin Promentro as the military leader by defeating him in a duel, and Dreibrand did get a few cheers for that news. The Bostas had one reason to like him.

"At the urgings of those Bostas who live with me in my settlement, I have decided to offer my friendship to the Bostas," Dreibrand said. "Metchlan, who many of you have heard of, has come here with me to announce our peace agreement."

Without waiting for further introduction, Metchlan bounded atop a pile of stone blocks that had been torn from the old Droxy fortress and waited to be hauled to a new construction project. He raised his arms, and everyone saw his trademark missing hand. Many people cheered. Parlim opened his mouth but stopped short of giving an order to interfere. He shook his head when one of his commanders looked to him with the expectation of being ordered into action.

Metchlan announced his acceptance of the peace agreement. He laced his speech with his usual Bosta power rhetoric, but Dreibrand approved of the essence of the speech. Metchlan called strongly for peace and asked all who served the Bosta cause to refrain from violence until negotiation had been given a chance, unless, of course, the Atrophane provoked them to take action.

The popular response was lukewarm. With Metchlan plainly in Atrophane custody and an Atrophane lord surrounded by rys dictating a peace treaty, the people saw that the rebels were unable to fulfill their promises of insurrection. The prospect of negotiation aroused little confidence among the people, but they were willing to wait and see if a truce might lessen their oppression.

With the announcement made, Dreibrand quickly moved on to the military base at the center of town. The buildings on the main road through the shantytown were built mostly from roughly hewn boards, and the jumble of structures that lined the other narrow crooked lanes were built from logs or wattle and roofed with thatch. As they rode through the shantytown, people clogged the streets, alleys, doorways, and windows; all straining to see the rys go by. People shouted that they wanted to see a magic trick.

Dey asked Dreibrand what they said.

When Dreibrand told him, the reckless request utterly surprised Dey. The people of the west considered themselves lucky to avoid a spellcasting rys. The easterners certainly were ignorant. 

After so much bizarre attention, the rys gladly entered the military complex. The stone block foundations beneath the tall walls of heavy timbers closed out the curious throng, replacing it with the discreet stares of disciplined soldiers.

With Parlim and Cevlead alongside of him, Dreibrand watched his army march through the gates. When Faychan passed with Metchlan, Dreibrand pointed him out to Parlim and explained who he was. He then named many of his Nufalese men as they rode by.

"The actions of my Nufalese comrades are not to be questioned by Atrophane. They serve me and I will often give them assignments," Dreibrand explained. "And Faychan is to be given particular respect. Think of him as one of my officers."

Parlim did not comment although he now understood clearly that his Lord General did not rely entirely on the loyalty of the Atrophane that he commanded.

When the gates finally closed behind the last tired cohort of infantry, Dreibrand felt the fangs of fatigue bite into him. He told Cevlead to see that everyone was quartered properly and to report to him later.

"Lieutenant, show me to my quarters," Dreibrand said.

"My pleasure, my Lord," Parlim replied.

They dismounted at the stables and Dreibrand removed his personal gear from Astar. He slung the large set of saddlebags over his shoulder and turned around as a servant led his colt inside. Parlim kneeled appropriately now that he was off his horse.

"Your respect is well noted, Lieutenant. You may rise," Dreibrand said. "Where will I be staying?"

Parlim pointed to the four-story building across the courtyard from the gate. It had plain shuttered windows but its brick foundation gave its architecture the beginnings of imperial permanency. Parlim warned Dreibrand that the Droxy base had no lavish lodgings to offer, but the rooms were furnished and comfortable.

"My office is at your disposal as well, my Lord," Parlim said.

"Thank you, Lieutenant, but show me to my room. We will speak there and then I will rest," Dreibrand said.

As Parlim had mentioned, the officer housing was rather utilitarian. The large apartments at the Wilderness fort had obviously been specially designed for the Darhet. Although lacking ostentation, the tidy suite that Parlim provided was far better than most Bosta homes.

Dreibrand set down his bags at the foot of the bed and returned to the front room where Parlim waited.

"I will assign servants to you immediately," Parlim said.

"Are they slaves?" Dreibrand asked.

Puzzled by the question, Parlim nodded.

"Well, we will have to talk about that soon," Dreibrand said. "For now, give me a quick report on the status of the territory."

Parlim detailed the locations and outcomes of recent confrontations with the rebels and said that he was concerned that a strike on the ferry operation was likely because taking over the river crossing would isolate Droxy.

Dreibrand responded, "Assign two thousand of the soldiers who have returned with me throughout the territory where you think they will be needed the most in case the peace fails. Use whatever contacts you have among the Bostas to publicize the truce. I will keep the rest of my force here in Droxy along with my warriors from Nufal."

"And what will the rys be doing, my Lord?" Parlim asked with a hint of nervousness.

Dreibrand shrugged. "I expect that they will come and go as they please. Do not interfere with them."

"Yes, my Lord," Parlim said.

Dreibrand added, "Be polite to the rys, Lieutenant Parlim. They make excellent friends, but their behavior is difficult to predict. We have them to thank for peace. Their assistance has saved many Atrophane lives already so show them your gratitude."

Parlim assessed the advice. On top of what Cevlead had told him, he resolved not to take risks with the strange creatures and to make sure that the other officers and soldiers understood to behave graciously toward them.

Dreibrand asked, "What is the state of your treasury? Can I give the soldiers their base pay?"

Parlim actually grimaced. "It is low, my Lord. I went past my budget outfitting many of Lord Promentro’s soldiers for the campaign. With the pressure that I have been under, I have requested more money and soldiers, but I have not received a response concerning either. By the Gods, the whole western half of the Empire has been thrown off by what the Darhet did. I am sure Lord Governor Carfu is still trying to sort things out in Phemnalang."

Carfu? Lord Governor? Dreibrand thought, remembering the man who had served with him under Lord Kwan.

Although Dreibrand had not really expected to hear a better report about the treasury, he said, "Give the soldiers their pay right now."

"My Lord, with all the soldiers that have returned, there is not enough to go around and leave even an emergency fund—"

Dreibrand cut him off. "Empty it. Give out every coin. See that every man gets something. I will take care of the money later."

Parlim’s face flashed with worry. He had been retaining the last of his funds until he received a response from Carfu so he would know how long he had to stretch his shriveled budget. He nearly asserted his misgivings to the Lord General but then realized that Dreibrand could not be stingy with the soldiers after giving the Bostas so much consideration.

 Sandin crippled me and this man gambles with what I have left, Parlim thought, but he had no desire to disgruntle the badly needed soldiers.

"I will do as you say, my Lord," Parlim said, but he could not completely abandon his uncomfortable skepticism. The depletion of Veta finances was no secret. "But, with respect, my Lord, how will you take care of the money?"

Dreibrand realized that Parlim had already been driven to ruin by one Lord General and the lieutenant was justified in asking for an explanation. Dreibrand told him that he had grown wealthy while traveling the western world.

Parlim had heard stories about the legendary wealth of the rys. He had written most of them off as the fantasizing prattle of people who did not know what they were talking about, but Dreibrand Veta was not one of those people.

"Very wealthy," Dreibrand emphasized.

Parlim nodded and appeared willing to consider the possibility that Dreibrand spoke the truth.

Glad that the officer chose not to dispute his claims, Dreibrand dismissed Parlim, who saluted and left.

Dreibrand removed his armor and weapons. Free of the encumbrances of a warrior, he slid into an upholstered chair. He recognized the Atrophane design on the fabric that was clean and bright next to his dirty sleeves. The solitude enforced by the solid building around him created a welcome barrier to the world. Despite his growing authority, he felt so fragile.

His aching forehead sank into his left hand, and he did not move. The pressure of winning the thousands of Atrophane soldiers over to his leadership, the arguments with Rearden, and then forcing Metchlan into the mold of his plans had given Dreibrand plenty of distraction from his grief. But he was alone with it now. Drawing in a shuddering breath, he thought about his brother. Atarek was supposed to be here with him.

Servants found him in the chair. They brought the water and towels that a weary Lord General needed. He accepted their assistance and cleaned away weeks of grime. When he shaved, he left a goatee.

The servants were just leaving when Cevlead came by. Dreibrand brightened when he saw his friend, whose presence alleviated the rising pressure of his sorrow.  He pulled out chairs at the table and invited Cevlead to sit with him. Cevlead reported that everyone had been accommodated within the base and that Metchlan was secured.

Dreibrand nodded and thanked Cevlead for his efforts. "I now have much more important business that I would like you to take care of, Cevlead. Do you feel up to a trip to Phemnalang?" Dreibrand asked.

Cevlead chuckled. "My Lord is so kind to offer me leave. I shall enjoy the therapeutic diversions in that liberal city."

"Oh, yes, by all means have some fun," Dreibrand said. "But seriously, I have very important assignments that only you can take care of."

Cevlead surmised that Dreibrand wanted him to arrange for an imperial delegation to come north for the negotiations.

Dreibrand confirmed that summoning diplomats was part of the mission, but added, "I need to pay all these soldiers what I promised them, but the treasury here is seriously low. Does Clan Fanlyre have any banks in Phemnalang?"

With discomfort, Cevlead answered that his Clan ran one bank in Phemnalang. Then, before Dreibrand could ask, he said preemptively, "Dreibrand, my credit could not even begin to pay this army, and forget the bonuses. And my Clan would never sign onto the mess I have gotten myself into, even if it could pay an army, which it cannot."

Dreibrand retrieved his saddlebags and removed a slick fur sack made from an otter. He unfastened the bag and emptied its contents on the table.

Cevlead gaped at the mound of gems that poured forth from the long brown animal. Sapphires and emeralds of extraordinary size and quality were suspended in a fabulous pile of diamonds.

"I need this converted into imperial coins for the soldiers." Dreibrand said. With his hand, he scooped away a small portion of the precious gems. "And Parlim has been quite reasonable today. I suppose I could spare him these. You, Cevlead, can keep the change after you finish my business. I do have one more thing that you will need to get when you are in Phemnalang." Dreibrand rummaged at the desk until he found some paper and ink. He scribbled a note and handed it to Cevlead.

With limp fingers Cevlead grasped the paper but he did not read it. He was still fixed on the treasure that would not let him blink. "How can you trust me with this?" he said with awe.

"I have trusted you before and not been disappointed," Dreibrand said. "And, if you rob me, I will just get more. It will take time and be an inconvenience, but I can get more." He actually had another bag reserved in his saddlebags.

Dreibrand smiled with satisfaction. He had dreamed for so long of reasserting the House of Veta and now he was making it happen.

"Are you really so wealthy?" Cevlead said, even with the proof before his eyes. He had grown up in the privileged class, but he had never seen someone so nonchalantly plop a fortune in gems on a table like bunches of grapes.

Dreibrand shrugged matter-of-factly. "What Sandin imagined of Jingten’s wealth is but a portion of what I have seen. My reward for serving Shan in his war that put him on the rys throne was…substantial," he said.

Cevlead absorbed the statement and its implications. The evidence of Jingten’s astounding wealth renewed his longing to visit the rys homeland, if only to see the wonder of it. Bracing himself mentally to secretly transport the gems, Cevlead moved on to the note. "Who is this for?" he asked.

"My wife," Dreibrand said.

18. Madness in the Mountains

From the town square in Vetanium, Miranda watched the flocks of birds flying north over the plains. Since the vernal equinox, she and her family had been back in their home, and she had waited for a message from Dreibrand. But only the geese and ducks, drawn to their unknown nesting grounds, traveled across Nufal and they brought no news.

Her eyes focused beyond the dark lines of migrating birds and studied the giant knuckles of blue stone that punched through the high snowfields of the rugged Rysamand. With the passing of each week, the spring thaw had nibbled at the snow line, and today, with the grassy scent of the prairie on the mild breeze, Miranda made a decision.

She looked around the settlement. Most of the settlers were outside working on spring projects. The homes were clean and whole, unspoiled by invasion, and she knew that she had the bravery of her people and the bold leadership of her husband to thank for the continuing progress. The sunny day made even the ruins appear renewed, and the smooth toppled statues seemed more like napping picnickers.

Although the vitality of the settlement pleased Miranda, the advancing season had exposed her anxiety like the body of a lost climber revealed by melting snow.

Miranda located Tytido, who was helping to build a rock wall around one of the many gardens that had been planned throughout the town. When she told him that she was going to Jingten to speak with Shan, he dropped his stone

Tytido took her aside so that the other workers would not hear them, and they argued heatedly. Alarmed by her idea, Tytido insisted that it was far too early in the season to even hope that the mountain pass would be open. Miranda countered that the season had been mild and the snows were retreating. By the time they crossed the plains, the path to Jingten might be open.

Desperate to discourage her, Tytido reminded her that they had no way to know that Shan was even in Jingten. The rys King could have run to the end of Gyhwen in his madness, and seeking him was dangerous. Even as Tytido warned her, he feared to encounter the great being, who he had once served so willingly.

But Miranda refused to fear Shan, and she did not doubt his willingness to grant her a favor. The absence of a message from Dreibrand could mean that he was in trouble, and she could not wait idly until bad news came. Shan had the power to find Dreibrand and tell her whether he was well or needed help. Miranda reasoned that if Dreibrand did need assistance, the sooner she sent him aid the better. She told Tytido that she would go to Jingten by herself if she had to. 

After many pleas for patience, Tytido accepted that he could not deter her. Although he declared the trip futile, he decided to escort Miranda. He knew that Dreibrand would want him to attend to her safety.

Tytido angered Lydea with his decision. Pregnant now, and perilously moody, she yelled at him for leaving her because of his concern for another woman. Retreating to his sense of masculine authority, he refused to debate the topic. Only when Madame Fayeth chided her daughter for not considering that Miranda needed help did Lydea reluctantly drop the subject. It was one of the very rare occasions that Tytido appreciated the constant interference from his mother-in-law.

Despite the fight with Lydea, Tytido missed her once he began his journey west, and he expected that she would forgive him when he came home. The anticipation of a cozy reunion with his young wife made up for his dread of Miranda’s inevitable disappointment when her quest failed.

Five days after leaving Vetanium, Miranda’s group was high into the Rysamand and emerging from the alpine forest that girdled the pass to the Jingten Valley. Snow chilled the ground between the thinning trees, and farther up the trail, the only evidence of spring was the dripping of snow pack in the afternoon.

Tytido noted the increasing glances of concern from the ten warriors who were with him. Although inspired by Miranda’s confidence, their hope that the Jingten Valley just might be accessible was fading.

The riders reached the point in the trail where the roadwork began. Piles of cut and uncut stones and mounds of dirt hunkered on the roadsides under blankets of snow. Nothing had been touched since the war had sent the work crews home last summer.

The horses left increasingly deeper tracks in the ice-crunchy snow that filled the roadway. The new monument with its floating stone sphere loomed ahead. No snow or ice clung to any portion of it. The great stone hand rose as a pristine symbol of Shan’s power, untouched by the elements but forged by the forces in Nature that Shan commanded. Magnificent as it was, it looked small between the severe peaks that flanked the pass.

The burbling of snowmelt in the stream beside the road encouraged Miranda. She flashed an excited look at Tiah who rode next to her. Tiah, although wary of entering the Rysamand in spring, had volunteered to serve as Miranda’s companion on the trip.

After climbing yet another switchback, Miranda came around a patch of stunted pines, and a cold wind stung her cheeks. The fur earflaps of her hat kept out the biting breeze, but the highland refused to let the spring weather come any farther. Miranda looked into the sky, suddenly fearing to see the darkening swirl of a mountain storm. The Rysamand could lash at trespassers with spontaneous blizzards that only rys could survive. Yet her hope persisted even as her environment reached out to grab her.

As they passed the tree line, the snow deepened. The horses labored in the thin air, pawing with their hooves for each step.

Miranda urged her mare onward. It was still morning, but at this pace she reluctantly estimated that they could not get through the pass before nightfall. Even she accepted that they could not spend the night at such high elevation. The temperature would drop too low, and moving in the dark would be too dangerous. A deceptive snowdrift might overhang a precipice. Reassessing her plan, Miranda decided to reach the monument, judge the condition of the pass, and then start the crossing on the next morning.

Tytido reached a different conclusion. "Miranda, already the snow is deep," he commented quietly.

Tiah waited for Miranda’s reaction. The wind gusted and flattened her fluffy fur hood against her cheeks.

"It might not get any worse. We can make it," Miranda said.

"Humans should not challenge the Rysamand," Tytido warned. Bred in the foothills of the mighty mountains, Tytido accepted that the Rysamand only allowed humans to enter through the window of its short summer. Ignoring that fact of Nature meant death.

As her horse pushed through another snowdrift, Miranda said, "I can get as far as the monument. Let me look at the pass and see."

"Very well," Tytido said. Once she saw her folly, she would have to accept her limits. He ordered the other warriors to stop.

"What are you doing?" Miranda said sharply.

"Let their mounts rest. I will go on with you," Tytido said.

Miranda accepted his decision and told Tiah to wait with the other warriors. For another hour, Miranda and Tytido struggled through the snow before reaching the monument. They broke through the last snow bank and emerged into a bare gravel area that surrounded the monument. Apparently, Shan’s magic prevented precipitation from collecting in the area. The clear zone, however, only accentuated the magnitude of the snow that sealed the pass. The road disappeared into a wall of snow that rose twice the height of their horses.

"No!" Miranda cried.

Tytido hushed her quickly, fearing that loud words might trigger an avalanche.

Her eyes roved the curving edge of the white barrier that mocked the spring thaw. The pass would not be open for at least another month, and then only because of its east-west orientation that exposed the narrow breach to full sun.

"Miranda, I am sorry," Tytido said sincerely. He was no longer upset that they had tried.

She hung her head, and her lips trembled with emotion. "I am so ashamed," she confessed. "Everyone knew I was crazy to try. And now I have to go home a failure."

Sensitive to her embarrassment, Tytido comforted her. "Your mistake will be forgiven. We all love Dreibrand, but know that you love him most of all. Everyone wanted you to succeed, but even if you had found Shan, we do not know if he would have helped us." Tytido frowned when he said the name of the rys King as if he should not even speak of him.

Tytido then suggested that people could be sent to the Empire to seek Dreibrand if they had no news after two more weeks. "For now, we must go home," he concluded.

Criticism for his eagerness to go home popped into Miranda’s mind. His spouse was waiting for him. He did not have little children asking for their father. He did not have to lie alone in bed at night and listen to demons of insecurity snicker at her faith that Dreibrand would come home.

Miranda halted her hostile thoughts. Even in her desolate state, she recognized her jealousy for his happiness.

"Give me some time alone," she said.

Tytido looked at her suspiciously, wondering if she might actually fling herself against the snowy barricade. She could potentially get buried in snow and die.

Miranda huffed at his paternal expression. "I know I can’t make it," she admitted. "Just give me some time alone."

Tytido accepted that she would not do anything insane and turned his horse around. "I will come get you if you take too long," he said.

Miranda appreciated that he cared about her, but she needed more comfort than he could offer. She dismounted and took off her gloves. The high banks of snow around the clear area created a shelter from the wind, and the sun warmed her face.

The tranquility of the place clarified her solitude and let her be at peace with it for a moment. Slowly, she walked up to the monument and touched the stone with her bare hand. The block cut from the Rysamand by Shan’s mind was not as cold as she would have expected. She had felt many types of magic touch her body, but the subtle sensation transmitted by the stone was new to her. The deep omnipresent pulse of the world flowed into her body. She suspected that she was experiencing great power in a benign state. Its ominous potential tempered by benevolent restraint.

Connected to Shan’s magic, Miranda decided to speak the words that she had meant to deliver to him in person.

"Shan, please hear me. Let not the hard things that I have heard about you be true. I know how the pain of the battlefield wounds your heart, but let the anger be healed from your good soul. Once, you came to me and kept me warm when I was in a cold hard place. I came to know you through that act of kindness, and I will never forget your gentleness and love. If you can hear me, Shan, please send me a message about Dreibrand. You have the power to find him. I must know how he fares."

Miranda stood in silence for a long time, almost expecting Shan to respond.

When a big gust of wind came through the pass and sprayed her with snow, she decided to leave. As she took her hand off the monument, the dusting of snow on her clothes sparkled briefly with every prism color and melted.

Down the road, Miranda rejoined Tiah and the men. No one spoke about the failed attempt to travel the pass. Riding back down the mountain was easier because they had already broken a trail in the snow. Upon reaching an elevation where the snows were depleted and green shoots peeped out of the carpet of pine needles, they stopped and began to forage for firewood.

After everyone tended their horses, Tiah began to boil some rations to make a stew. Miranda absently assisted her, and they did not talk. In the last of the daylight, Tytido and the other warriors took up their spears or bows and slipped into the forest, hoping to kill some fresh game. Just before the broad shadows of the Rysamand turned completely into night, the hunters returned with one rabbit. Tiah teased the warriors and asked if all of them had taken part in slaying the fierce creature. One man responded that the rabbit had given them a terrible struggle and all of them were lucky to have survived.

Distracted by depression, Miranda ignored the good humor of her companions. She focused only on her need for information about Dreibrand. He could be dead or in prison for all she knew. The prospect of waiting while her messengers sought him and then, if they found him, sent back news tormented her with impatience.

Miranda considered going to look for him herself. She believed that Madame Fayeth would understand if she asked her to continue helping Sahleen with the children. It was a lot to ask, though, and Miranda disliked leaving her children behind indefinitely. A trip to the Bosta Territory would take at least three weeks, and to find Dreibrand, she might have to travel much farther. Miranda also hated the thought of visiting the region where she had lived as a slave. Her instincts agreed with her duties, and both told her to stay in Nufal with her children, but what if Dreibrand needed help?

The terrible possibility started her inner debate again. She placed the same value on Dreibrand as his children, but she already knew Dreibrand’s opinion on the matter. He had entrusted his children to her care and she was responsible for maintaining the power of the House of Veta in Nufal. Miranda had to fulfill her obligations, but she could not stop wondering what she would do if she had no word about Dreibrand by midsummer. What if a year passed and he did not come home? Would she go to look for him then?

With Shan’s help, she could have satisfied her duties and her needs, but now only waiting in isolation remained for her.

Gripped with helpless disappointment, Miranda watched Tytido skin the rabbit and add its meat to the stew. His knife gleamed in the firelight. The warriors at both campfires monitored the stewpot hungrily as the food smells thickened around them.

When it was time to eat, Miranda was courteously served first. She murmured her thanks and began to eat mostly because it would help her stay warm.

The warriors chatted pleasantly over their food. Tiah joined in the conversation, having shed some of her cultural modesty over the winter. Miranda assumed they were in such a good mood because they would not have to struggle through high treacherous snows. In retrospect, she regretted taking such a foolish trip. Dreibrand would not have risked his people so carelessly.

Tiah attempted to cheer her mistress. "Lady Miranda, maybe there will be a message waiting for you when we get home. Or, maybe everyone will have returned," she suggested brightly.

"Yes, there could be a message," Miranda said, flirting with optimism for the sake of the others. She admonished herself for being so glum when morale among the settlers was good. In general, the people had complete confidence that Dreibrand would be successful. His supporters declared regularly that he would come back the owner of the Empire.

As the men broke out their pipes and flasks, Tiah began to clean the cooking pot. Miranda stepped away from the fires and watched the stars populate the vast darkened land. Beyond their cozy camp, a light wind spread unknown gossip through the trees. 

The men sounded happy as they shared their nightcap. Miranda glanced over her shoulder and imagined Dreibrand sitting in one of the warm circles of light. That was his place, camping with his warriors upon the open land. As their leader, he would share their fire and a few stories, and then he would leave them and wrap his arms around her…

Miranda shoved the thought from her mind. Remembering his comforting embrace only aggravated her loneliness. She allowed herself one quiet sigh and decided to get some rest.

Sudden intense blue light blazed from the sword on her hip, and excitement smashed her dejection.

"Tytido!" she cried urgently.

He lowered his pipe as she lifted her sword into his view. The enchanted crystals burned with power like hardwood coals in a fire. Instantly Tytido looked beneath his cloak and saw the same increased glow from his enchanted sword. Without pausing to question the phenomenon, he was on his feet with his blade exposed.

"There," Miranda whispered and pointed into the trees. She spotted tiny lights, like lost little stars wandering in the remote forest.

Everyone jumped up now. A warrior at the other campfire cried out with alarm. A figure emerged from the pines. Warding crystals sparkled on his armor, white hair fringed his black helmet, and his mirror-like shield flashed orange in the firelight.

"Shan!" Miranda gasped.

His appearance infused Miranda with joy and her mind seized the old emotion. She ran to Shan, delighted to greet him, but she stopped abruptly when he turned toward her. Scarred puckered flesh obscured his right eye and marred his once perfect face.

Although shocked by the poorly healed wound, her next reaction was sympathy. Miranda reached out to him, ready to offer comfort, but Tytido grabbed her shoulder.

"My King, are you well?" he asked.

The nervously stated question made Miranda notice the silence of the other warriors. They stared at Shan as if uncertain whether they should welcome him or run for their lives.

Shan appeared to ponder the question deeply and then finally said, "I am better than I was."

"Where did you go?" Tytido asked.

Shan gestured vaguely across the land. "I have been in my mountains," he answered.

 Unwilling to hang back in fear, Miranda shrugged off Tytido’s grip and moved up to Shan.

"Shan, are you hurt?" she asked with genuine concern.

The rys King reached up to his face. He had forgotten the disfigurement that clearly distressed Miranda. "The wound was inflicted by an enchanted weapon that made fixing the flesh difficult. This eye no longer sees correctly," he explained.

Miranda pitied his suffering, especially if he had been wandering alone for months. "Have you been to Jingten?" she wondered.

Shan shook his head.

"Have you been hunting Alloi? Did you kill her?" Tytido asked. Questions about the fate of the female tabre had lingered in the back of all their minds.

Disapproval flickered over Shan’s face. "No," he said.

"Then what happened to her?" Miranda said, fearing for the people in Vetanium.

Shan merely looked back the way he had come. Initially, Miranda thought that Shan avoided giving a response because he did not know, but then she realized that he was looking toward someone.

"Come, do not be afraid," Shan said in the rys language.

The sable-skinned female stepped cautiously into the firelight. Tattered white robes and a fur cloak draped her tall form, and her shining eyes studied the human faces. All the warriors shouted with alarm. Tiah screamed. Weapons rattled and pans clattered between shifting feet.

"No, do not harm her," Shan said. He moved to her side and took her hand. "She is not your enemy anymore."

Although mistrusting the statement, Tytido gestured for the warriors to stay back lest they provoke the rys to attack.

"My King, please explain this to us," Tytido said with forced politeness. He feared that the elusive female had somehow taken over Shan’s mind.

"That I will do, Tytido," Shan answered. "Please, lower your weapons. She will not hurt you."

Miranda had not actually seen the female before, but she recognized Alloi’s kinship with the vicious creature that had invaded her home, killed Zanah, and threatened her children. Miranda began to recede into the realm of suspicion where Tytido and the other warriors dwelled.

In compliance with Shan’s request, Tytido lowered his weapon. Hesitantly, the other warriors followed his example.

Shan nudged Alloi a little closer to the group of humans. Miranda observed his protective posture and the arm he placed around Alloi’s waist.

"Alloi has surrendered," Shan explained. "She regrets the harm that she has caused and asks for your forgiveness."

"No," Alloi said sharply, speaking in Atrophaney. "I cannot ask forgiveness. My brother and I should not have hurt you. I have only my shame to offer."

Miranda and Tytido exchanged puzzled glances. The humble creature hardly seemed like the threat that had worried them for many months.

"Do not be so hard on yourself," Shan said to Alloi in the rys language. He deserved to suffer with guilt far more than she did.

Shan accepted how difficult it had been for Alloi to even approach the human camp, and he addressed the people on her behalf. Shan explained that she was the last survivor of the tabre race that had built Nufal’s original civilization. Tempet and she had been twins, whose power gave them the ability to wait in hibernation until Onja’s power dwindled. When they had awoken, the Great War had been fresh in their minds. Defending Nufal was all they knew and revenge on the rys was their only craving. Shan portrayed Alloi as a misinformed victim who had made bad choices. He wanted the humans to accept her.

"Shan, stop," Alloi interrupted and looked directly at Miranda. "Your King wants to make my actions seem less horrible, but I accept responsibility. Lady, I am sorry for what I did to your home. I am sorry I helped my brother, who had only cruelty and murder left in his heart. I saw too late that you are the people who love Nufal. I should have helped you instead of rousing enemies to attack you."

Miranda could believe that Alloi, as the last of her race, suffered. Whether that meant Alloi’s regret was genuine, Miranda could not know for sure, but her trust in Shan allowed her to discount her suspicion. "I accept your apology," she said.

"You are so kind," Alloi murmured. She felt intensely unworthy of any leniency.

Continuing to soothe her privately in the rys language, Shan assured her that the Nufalese humans would accept her eventually.

While watching Shan comfort the female with his intimate whispers, Miranda grew impatient for his attention. "Shan, do you know why I have come here?" Miranda asked.

Shan avoided answering her directly. He put his one good eye on Tytido and said, "Can Alloi wait in your camp while I speak with Miranda alone?"

The request for privacy made panic flutter in Miranda’s chest. Did Shan have bad news to deliver already?

"Yes, my King," Tytido said warily. Shan’s humility seemed to indicate that the rys King had escaped his insanity, but Tytido doubted that he could accurately judge a rys’s behavior.

The female tabre looked among the warriors and shared their reluctance to be together.

Tytido sensed the collective fear of his men and said, "She is no more dangerous here than out in the woods."

No one argued with his logic, and Shan and Miranda slipped into the night. The warriors returned to their places by the fires, but they did not resume their conversations. Alloi kneeled tentatively just inside the firelight.

Her forlorn features and downcast eyes tugged at Tytido’s heart. Now that he paused to look upon her exotic beauty, he regretted the times that he had tried to kill her. Perhaps no one, man or rys, can hurt this fair creature, he thought.

He finally dared to start a conversation. He used the Atrophane language because she had used it. "Alloi," he said. "Where are you from in Nufal?"

His friendliness surprised Alloi as much as the notion that she actually had something in common with the man. Softly, she explained that she had been born in Drathatarlane, which was the ruined city on the canyon cliffs. She had lived there with her parents and brother although they had often stayed at the lakeside city of Kwellstan where her family had a second home. 

"Drathat, Drathataa," Tytido struggled with the word a few times before getting it right. "We call it the Secret City."

"It was meant to be separate from the common cities, where tabre and human mixed. Only tabre were allowed to live in Drathatarlane, so perhaps, you are right to call it secret," Alloi said.

"What was the city north of the lake, north of Kwellstan, called?" Tytido asked.

"Alicharat," she answered.

"I plan to start a settlement in that place soon, but I will call it Lydeaem after my new wife," Tytido explained, actually hoping that the change would not offend her.

"It deserves a new name," Alloi murmured.

Captivated by her sadness, Tytido wanted to console her. "We all elected to keep calling the whole region Nufal to honor the people of the past," he said.

Pleased by the sentiment, Alloi extracted some comfort from the efforts of the humans to make her land live again. She believed that, with their evident devotion to Nufal, they would build lovely cities.

As Tytido took tentative steps toward peace with the heretofore hostile tabre, Shan spoke cold truths to Miranda. A waxing moon had risen in the sky between the mountain ranges, and the pines were silhouetted in the silver light. Their shadows crossed Shan’s face, concealing his scars, but the lunar light shone on his lips as he confessed to her about hurting Dreibrand. Miranda covered her mouth with her hands to contain her outrage. Hearing the harsh details from Shan sickened her. Tytido’s secondhand report of the incident had left Miranda mental room for denial.

"I almost killed him. I know I killed his love for me," Shan concluded.

Miranda staggered back and stared in horror at Shan’s form, outlined in the glitter of enchanted crystals. For the first time, Miranda accepted that Dreibrand had endured great pain at Shan’s hands. The reality of it choked her with hard dry sobs.

"I cannot help you. Go from here and do not come back," Shan commanded with regal finality.

Revulsion for Shan swept through Miranda’s mind, but replacing her love for him with hate was too awful. She focused beyond her distress and realized that he had heard what she had said at the monument. For days, he must have watched her approach, and she surmised that her kind loving words spoken in the pass had coaxed him from hiding. Clinging to the chance that Shan could be rescued from his sickness, she pleaded for his favor. 

She subdued her sobs and gestured to him with open hands. "Please, Shan, I need your help. I have had no news from Dreibrand since he went south with the Atrophane. Please, you must look for him."

Shan was startled by her disregard for his command, and his temper slammed against the cage of his will. Coldly, he told Miranda that he had turned his mind away from the concerns of the human world.

"But, Shan, this is me. This is Dreibrand. Please help us," Miranda persisted.

"No, Miranda. Ask nothing of me," Shan said sharply.

Amazed by his harsh denial, Miranda blinked without comprehension. Her close bond with Shan had sustained her for many years, and she could not let his love drain away. "If you tell me not to ask, then I will beg for your help," she said.

Shan now regretted that he had answered her summons. She would have been safer if he had stayed away, but, like an adulterous lover, her faith in his good nature had tempted him close. The needs of any other human he could have ignored, but Miranda had fought for him, sacrificed for him, and asked for so little until now.

Knowing that he must not allow her to tap his sympathies again, Shan said, "Miranda, I came to you only so I could explain. You must understand that I must remove myself from human affairs. Those brave warriors with you can attest to the damage caused when I lost control on the battlefield. I will never again allow myself to be involved in a situation where my power can do so much harm."

Miranda acknowledged his terrible regret, but she argued that there could be no harm in looking for Dreibrand so that she could learn his status.

Shan resisted the allure of harmless actions and resolved to refuse her. What he had done to Dreibrand proved the depths of his madness. Trying to assuage his shame by granting Miranda her request might only worsen the situation. What if Dreibrand were in danger? Then, Shan would want to help him, but involvement in human problems always seemed to include hurting someone. Shan no longer possessed the confidence that he could control himself. He had used his power in the worst possible way and experienced the awesome pleasure of his supremacy. The memory skulked continually at the edge of his mind.

When Shan did not respond, Miranda added softly, "Shan, I miss him. It has been so long."

Her simple longing for her lover made his reasons seem so selfish, but he could not relent. "Miranda, I am confident that Dreibrand can take care of himself. Stop asking me for help. You were mistaken to say such kind words about me at the monument," he said.

"Shan, I was not mistaken," Miranda said gently. "Your soul is filled with kindness and compassion. Even knowing you hurt Dreibrand, I still am thankful that you came back from you madness and spared him. I know I can never understand many things about you Shan because you are a rys, but I have come to know human power, and I know that it can push good things from the mind. The forces that act on your mind must be much greater. If you are so ashamed of hurting Dreibrand, make it up to him. Go find him and help him if he needs it."

"Ah, Miranda, your speeches have roused many fighters to the fight, but can you not see how my interference would only put me in a position where I might have another lapse? What if I am not capable of controlling myself anymore? You cannot imagine the pleasure," he moaned. Even now, the corrupted portion of his mind ridiculed his regrets. He could be oppressing the whole world instead of moping in the mountains. Hordes of minions could be cringing in their duty to him, and instead he bickered with a woman.

"Shan, do not deny me because you fear that you might do harm," Miranda argued. "What if Dreibrand needs your help? What then? Ignoring that would allow harm to happen to someone you love. How is that better?"

Shan did not want to think about that scenario, and he turned away from her.

Miranda continued, "Shan, you said that you would add your great voice to support Nufal in the treaty that Dreibrand means to forge with the Empire. You said that you would help us in that way."

"I have rethought that decision," Shan said.

You will not refuse me! Miranda thought indignantly.

She understood that he hated to use his magic to hurt others, but Dreibrand was at stake and so was Nufal. Miranda walked around him and confronted him to his scarred face. "Shan, you owe me this!" she declared. "I was there when you battled Onja. And so was Dreibrand. You owe both of us!"

"How dare a human inflict debt on the King of Jingten!" he exploded. His powers lashed out and hurled Miranda backward onto the ground. She skidded on the pine needles and felt the pure fear of complete vulnerability. His cold blue aura expanded around her with the speed of flames seizing a funeral pyre. His intense power pierced her skin, digging for nerves like worms in loose soil.

Miranda cried out weakly. She knew what was coming. She knew the agony that a rys could inflict on a human. Her body shivered in automatic physical dread of his onslaught. 

"Shan, this is not you. Come back," Miranda begged. Even under attack, she could not believe that he was beyond redemption. Once, his kind spirit had enveloped her, offering love, trust, and warmth. All the things that had been lacking for much of her life.

She gave up resisting the fierce grasp of his magic. Struggling would not ease the pain that was coming. With her arms wide, her back arched, her neck exposed, she lay before him like a drugged sacrifice. Shedding two tears for him, she said, "Shan, come back. I forgive you!"

The resilience of her love recalled Shan from his rage. The sight of Miranda knocked down by his unfettered mind crippled him with grief. His magic dissipated and his legs buckled. He had been about to hurt her as he had hurt Dreibrand. What was this horror that his life had turned into?

Miranda lifted her head. Her body was free. She scrambled toward him.

"No, stay away," he commanded, but she ignored him and grabbed his wrist. He flailed against her, but she hung on to him.

"Shan, you are good. You are so good. Why can’t you remember?" she said. The edges of his armor were hot with his magic and burning her fingers.

"No, no. I am like Onja now. Just like her. Evil!" he cried and clutched his head with his free hand as if a terrible headache chiseled his will to pieces. "I must stay hidden. Go, Miranda. You should not have come here. Go, before I hurt you!"

"Shan, I cannot believe this. You must embrace who you once were," Miranda commanded fiercely. "Otherwise, you will become like Onja. You cannot avoid madness lurking in the mountains."

Shan focused on the touch of Miranda’s hand. Her presence reminded him of what it was to be loved instead of feared. Shan had thought the companionship of Alloi would comfort him enough, but she was too shattered an individual to help him heal. Although he believed that he deserved to slink about in shame, it served no one, rys or human, and it eased his suffering not at all.

"Miranda," he whispered from the depths of humility. "You have preserved inside you that which I lost." The unshakeable love that he had inspired in Miranda’s heart now allowed Shan to rediscover his kind soul. "I will look for Dreibrand, and I will help him if he needs it," he said.

Miranda kissed his hand. "Shan, thank you. Thank you so much," she said.

Confused by her affection, Shan warned, "Miranda, do not thank me until I determine Dreibrand’s status. I have neglected him terribly."

"He will forgive you as I have done," Miranda predicted.

Shan would not expect forgiveness. He now understood Alloi’s reluctance to even ask for it. But Shan could still do the right thing. "Get some rest, Miranda. I will have to meditate for many hours."

******

The humans slept fitfully as the King of Jingten crossed the Wilderness inside his trance. Miranda dreamed that she was flying and scanning the land for Dreibrand. She never saw him though, and she tossed under her blanket. Several warriors had nightmares of Deamedron because the arrival of Shan and Alloi had agitated recent memories of war.

Alloi remained awake through the night and considered the mind journey that Shan was taking. He searched across lands that she had traveled, and she pondered the people’s lives that she had disrupted.

At dawn, the tips of the Tabren Mountains blazed fuchsia with the awakening of the day. Shan’s good eye did not blink but he began to breathe deeply and conclude his trance. Amid shimmering ripples of colored light, he watched the physical world take shape out of the planes of energy that had carried his mind, and he discerned Miranda standing a polite distance away. The rys King spoke her name and she came forward.

She bit her lip, unwilling to waste time voicing her urgent question.

"Dreibrand is fine," Shan said.

Miranda sighed with immense relief. "Where is he?" she asked.

Shan described the crude town and shattered stone fortress that he had seen at the edge of the Wilderness.

"They call it Droxy," Alloi said.

Miranda curled her nose. She had lived for seven distasteful years in a village near Droxy. "How is he? What is he doing?" she asked.

"He appears to be in command of the Atrophane soldiers there. I saw him in a military compound. I saw an officer speaking to him, reporting to him, taking orders," Shan said.

Miranda was proud that Dreibrand evidently maintained control, and it was good to know that he had not ventured deeply into the Empire. He remained close to his Wilderness, only a few weeks away.

"Anything else, Shan? Can you tell me anything?" Miranda said.

Although the bulk of his trance time had been used to locate Dreibrand’s lifeforce, Shan had paused to assess the health of his estranged friend.

"He is sad," Shan replied simply.

"For his brother," Miranda murmured.

"What happened to Atarek?" Shan asked.

Miranda explained how Atarek had been killed. Although shaken by Atarek’s death, the rys King was privately relieved that he had not inadvertently slain Atarek during his rampage.

Returning the conversation to those who were living, Miranda asked Shan if he would go to Dreibrand. She wanted Shan to proclaim his support for Nufal and elicit a treaty from the Empire that would protect Nufal from invasion and recognize the authority of the House of Veta.

Alloi spoke before he could answer. "Shan," she said. "I will go to the Empire. I have much to make amends for, with both the people of Nufal and the Atrophane. With Tempet, I riled the Empire into invading this region, causing many deaths. I must go apologize to them for using them. I knew how many would die fighting a war against the rys. I knew. Now, I will go build peace. I owe that to everybody."

Thrilled by Alloi’s announcement, Shan actually faced his journey with the beginnings of optimism. He told Miranda that he would go to Droxy and help Dreibrand. He promised her that Nufal would have the weight of Jingten on its side.

Shan and Alloi asked for the four best horses from the human party so they could travel with greater speed. The humans gladly provided them. Having Shan place his alliance with Nufal on the imperial negotiating table was worth the inconvenience of riding double on the trip back to Vetanium.

Miranda envied Shan and Alloi, who would soon be with Dreibrand, but knowing that her husband was free and unhurt gave Miranda the strength to go home to her duties. 

Before Shan departed, Miranda spoke to him privately. "Shan, tell Dreibrand that I love him and that his children are well."

"I will gladly bear that news to him," Shan said. It was good to hope that he could mend some of the damage that he had done. But, like the scars around his ruined eye, Shan expected that things might never be the same.

He looked deeply into Miranda’s eyes, and she felt him apologize. They said nothing more and he left.

Miranda watched Shan and Alloi ride down the mountain while the others packed up the camp. After the rys and tabre disappeared into the wilds, Miranda belatedly started to get ready to travel.

Tytido came over to her as she bridled her horse. "Did you see how Shan was with her?" he asked quietly.

Miranda waited patiently for the mare to unclench her teeth and end her cursory resistance to the bit. Sliding the bridle into place, Miranda answered, "I would have to say that he loves that female tabre."

"Do you think that Alloi has taken his mind?" Tytido whispered. He felt so enchanted after meeting Alloi that he wondered if she was controlling all of them.

Miranda shook her head adamantly. "Not Shan. Do not doubt his power, Tytido."

"But Alloi was our enemy, a terrible enemy, and Shan told us to kill her many times," Tytido said.

"Perhaps Shan has forgiven her, and if he can do that, perhaps we can forgive him," Miranda said.

Tytido considered what she said. He had been raised to value pride and vengeance, and to forgive seemed weak and perilous.

"You forgave him, didn’t you?" Tytido surmised. "You forgave him even for hurting Dreibrand."

Miranda nodded. She shared Tytido’s shock for her choice, which was incredible considering her defensive devotion to Dreibrand. "But Shan spared him," she explained. "And, although I sincerely forgave him, it was also the only way to bring him back to us. Without his help, Dreibrand cannot have quick success and come home."

Tytido appeared satisfied with her reasoning, and he fully accepted the value in pardoning Shan when Miranda added, "And I could not leave Shan to suffer in his guilt. He never would have escaped his wickedness then."

19. Veta the Usurper

I can no longer expect that the situation on the frontier will be mended by the return of Sandin. My greatest friend has met with ruin and death, and, as I pick up his responsibilities, I must not forget how dying at the hands of Dreibrand Veta must scald his noble spirit. – Carfu Anglair, Governor of Phemnalang, excerpt from journal, year 786 Atrophane calendar.

 

Two Atrophane scouts galloped through the muddy streets of Droxy. Shod hooves splashed through puddles forming in the warm spring rain, and people moved aside for the speeding horses. From beneath dripping hoods and hats, eyes followed the scouts and revealed concern for the news carried by the imperial messengers.

When the scouts reached the military complex, soldiers rang the bell in the gate tower to announce their entry.

From inside his quarters, Dreibrand heard the bell but attributed no meaning to the sound. As the final ring faded, the hypnotic rhythm of the gentle rain resumed tapping his perception. He liked the rain today. It suited him so much more than the sunny spring days and gentle breezes that encouraged the leafing trees. Dreibrand considered taking a stroll in the shower. Perhaps the water would cleanse away the dusty grief that had gathered on his mind.

But he did not act on the thought. As the winter had grown old, he had cloistered himself in his shuttered quarters, and the optimistic renewal of spring had not drawn him from his lair. The endurance of the peace agreement with the Bostas had allowed Dreibrand to indulge in solitude, and, keeping no one’s counsel, he focused on his inevitable confrontation with the imperial authority. He had difficult decisions to make.

Wrangling with his deepest concerns, however, had caused him to tumble into his grief. The memory of Atarek’s death sapped Dreibrand of his confidence. Whenever his intellect reached toward his ambitious goals, his certainty in his tactics wilted. Stymied by the elusive endgame for the situation that he had created, he punished himself with remorse. When he relived the moments leading to Atarek’s death, his body would clench and shudder from the total memory of the trauma. The horror of it all diseased his mind, and he would emerge from a tortured lapse to see that the night had passed without his sleeping, or a day had slipped away without his noticing.

During the months since Cevlead had departed for Phemnalang, Dreibrand had imagined the journey of the letter that he had sent to his parents. If Cevlead had posted the letter from Phemnalang, it would have crossed the Gulf of Beldet by now, and perhaps this was the day that his father and mother were opening it and learning of the death of their favorite son.

The tread of boots thumped in the hall. Dreibrand did not associate the approach of a visitor with any amount of time since hearing the bell.

"My Lord?" Parlim said outside the door. He knocked politely and called to his Lord General again. He knew that it might take a while to get an answer, but he had chosen to be patient with Dreibrand’s reclusive habits. Despite his strange circumstances, Parlim had discovered that he enjoyed the peace that Dreibrand had imposed on the region. Parlim wanted the stability to continue, especially because Dreibrand enriched him and he did not even have to fight a battle.

Dreibrand consciously overcame his lethargy and buttoned his shirt halfway. He pushed his hair out of his face and unlocked the door. He stepped back and told Parlim to enter.

Parlim came in and dipped to one knee. Dreibrand gestured carelessly for him to rise.

Parlim glanced around the dim room, noting the half-eaten breakfast on the table and the wax puddles of burned out candles. He cleared his throat and reported, "My Lord, scouts have just arrived. They are sent by Commander Fanlyre. His caravan crossed the river yesterday."

Roused by the positive report, Dreibrand said, "Have my horse saddled. We shall go out to meet Cevlead."

"Of course, my Lord," Parlim said, pleased by the sign of initiative from the troubled person who had taken up residence in his military post.

As Parlim walked away, Dreibrand placed a shaky hand on the doorframe. He hoped that Cevlead was returning with the desired imperial currency. The mounting need to reward the soldiers had taxed Dreibrand during many dark moments when he had feared losing control of his army.

This is my signal to function , Dreibrand thought. The imperial delegation would not be too far behind Cevlead. Although drained by heavy depression, Dreibrand started to extract himself from his mire of self-loathing.

The first step would be to get himself presentable. Dreibrand stepped in front of the mirror to assess his disheveled state. Gloomy light squeezed through the shutters and revealed a pale face with circles under the eyes. His facial hair had filled in around his neglected goatee. After rubbing a scruffy cheek, he snatched up the razor and restored the goatee.

Although he could have selected a young man to serve as a squire, he preferred total privacy and put on his armor and weapons himself. He secured the buckles while noting each well worn groove in the leather straps. He had chosen not to adopt wearing military uniform. Although he was the army’s leader, he would remain true to his decision to leave military service. The part of his personality that had once been a dedicated officer precluded him from donning the uniform that he had abandoned.

When he went outside, the touch of raindrops on his face was as pleasant as he had imagined. A soldier waited with his saddled horse.

After putting his helmet on over his chainmail hood, Dreibrand thanked the dutiful soldier and reached for the reins. Astar whickered lightly and Dreibrand paused to pet the colt’s sleek cheek, as if to apologize for the long separation.

 Parlim soon joined Dreibrand, and they assembled a mixed honor guard of Atrophane soldiers and Nufalese warriors. Dreibrand set a fast pace, and they galloped out of Droxy, drawing the attention of the residents with their purposeful speed. The news easily whirled through town in the wake of the passing warriors that the Atrophane Lord General had emerged from seclusion.

As Dreibrand leaned into the body of his maturing steed and the wind slapped his face, he longed to be riding on the high plains west of Vetanium. He wanted to view his herds that grazed the flower-speckled prairie and know how the calving and foaling went.

He intercepted Cevlead’s caravan in the hills east of Droxy.   The numerous wagons bore welcome supplies, and Dreibrand noted that Cevlead had supplemented his original group of soldiers with Cinivese mercenaries and conscripts in order to bolster security. He hoped that it indicated the high value of the cargo.

The commander waved to his chosen lord and cantered ahead of his troops to meet him. Cevlead wore a new uniform and his horse’s accessories had been upgraded with the fine accouterments available in the urban southeast. Cevlead looked very much like an officer who had been spending money in Phemnalang.

"Welcome back!" Dreibrand said with the most enthusiasm he had felt in a long time.

"You honor me with your personal attention, my Lord," Cevlead responded cheerfully.

Dreibrand stopped his horse alongside Cevlead, and the men clasped hands. Dreibrand leaned close and said quietly, "How did our business go?"

"Our business went well," Cevlead reported with a meaningful grin.

"Good," Dreibrand said. The one word hardly equaled his happiness about having the Atrophane currency that he needed very badly.

Dreibrand rode alongside the caravan with Cevlead, who detailed the contents of each wagon. All of them contained general supplies except for the third wagon. Under its deceptive layer of grain bags were stowed strong boxes of imperial gold and silver coins.

When Dreibrand thanked Cevlead for arranging his finances, Cevlead appreciated Dreibrand’s thoughtful regard for his efforts. Being the bearer of bad news to the imperial authority in Phemnalang had not been pleasant or rewarding.

"How was the news of Sandin’s passing taken?" Dreibrand asked, not expecting a good answer.

"Gods of Ektren! It has shocked the Empire," Cevlead reported. "I must have had to give my word a hundred times that it was a legitimate duel, accepted by Sandin and fought before the whole army, which then accepted the outcome. Those softies in the city can barely believe the losses Sandin took from King Shan." 

"None of them have any concept of what Shan can do," Dreibrand remarked.

Cevlead continued, "Governor Carfu is terribly upset about Sandin’s death. He is coming here himself, leading the delegation that you requested."

Dreibrand repeated Carfu’s name thoughtfully.

"I have gathered that you know each other," Cevlead said.

"We served together for two years," Dreibrand said. "Actually, Carfu is a decent human, minus his relationship with Sandin."

"What do you think he will do?" Cevlead asked.

Dreibrand did not answer. He was uncomfortable with the prospect of dealing with an old associate.

Confronted by Dreibrand’s silence, Cevlead tried another subject. "I hear that the peace has lasted the whole time I was away," he commented.

"Yes. It seems that Metchlan’s word carried much weight. How long until the delegation comes?" Dreibrand said.

Cevlead said, "I estimate that it is about two weeks behind me."

While Dreibrand pondered the timeframe, Cevlead scanned the western horizon. He had enjoyed his trip to the hub of the western Empire, but he had not stopped thinking about the Wilderness and the places he had yet to see. The clouds hid the distant Rysamand, but Cevlead could imagine where the peaks touched the sky.

Although dreaming of going all the way to the magic mountains, Cevlead was content for that day to reach Droxy after his long trip. As the caravan rolled through the town, it drew a crowd. The extra soldiers and supplies immediately started rumors that the Atrophane were exploiting the peace in order to strengthen their position in the territory.

The skeptical faces of the onlookers reminded Dreibrand that he was associated with an occupying force. Shutting down the imperial slave trade had appeased many locals, but they wanted more. He had done little else to court the favor of the people since his arrival six months ago. Women in the crowd eyed him curiously, and the men stared at him with grudging respect, but none of them trusted him. Dreibrand judged that keeping Metchlan as a hostage was not likely to prevent an uprising once planting season was over.

After the caravan entered the military complex, Dreibrand ordered Parlim to assemble the soldiers.

"And send the paymaster to me," Dreibrand added.

The request for the paymaster immediately propelled the rumor among the soldiers that their Lord General would fulfill his promise of high pay. The soldiers scrambled to obey the call to assemble.

Cevlead immediately started soldiers unpacking the grain bags that hid the strong boxes. He opened the first box and exposed the cloth bags within. Dreibrand took out his dagger and cut open a bag. The gleam of imperial silver spilled out. Dreibrand recognized the portraits of the Darmar and savored undermining imperial military authority with its own coinage.

The paymaster showed up quickly, puffing after his run from his office. He was eager to confirm that he had material with which to perform his trade. Months of short pay and long complaints had made his job difficult.

He saluted the Lord General but his eyes were on the silver coins. He noted the other strong boxes and exclaimed, "There is more than enough!"

"Start with the veterans from the Wilderness campaign. Give them their bonuses first," Dreibrand said.

"Gladly, my Lord," the paymaster said.

"And everyone gets their back pay plus double pay this month," Dreibrand added.

"Yes, yes, my pleasure, my Lord," the paymaster bubbled.

Dreibrand slipped his dagger back into his belt and grabbed two bags of coins. He strode toward Parlim, who was reviewing the assembled soldiers and calling for silence. A few cheers escaped from the ranks as Dreibrand approached.

Dreibrand stopped next to Parlim and lifted the bags over his head. "As I promised, I shall share my wealth," he declared.

All the soldiers shouted their approval, and Parlim radiated respect toward his Lord General. Dreibrand roused the spirits of the men and rewarded them. With such morale, Parlim figured that the rebels would be too intimidated to strike.

Dreibrand said, "Let my wealth express my gratitude for the courtesy and obedience you have shown me during this turbulent time."

Dreibrand absorbed the exaltation from the soldiers. They shouted his name, and despite his flush of satisfaction, he had no longing to take their loyalty into battle. He hoped that his possession of them would be enough for the Empire to accept his reasonable demands.

Dreibrand hailed the cheering mass of men and then walked back to the caravan wagons. He joined the Nufalese warriors who had ridden in his honor guard. Their familiar faces boosted his spirits. Gulang was among them, and so was Kashil. Dreibrand handed them each a bag of silver.

"See that everyone gets some spending money," Dreibrand said. "Go grab a few more bags while they unload."

"You own this army now, my Lord," Gulang said happily. As a former Kezanada, he had a great appreciation for Dreibrand’s takeover of the once hostile force.

"They craved good leadership as well as profit," Dreibrand responded. "Now, you men go have some fun. Business will get serious here sooner rather than later."

The warning interested Gulang. "Does that mean that your business draws near an end and we may soon go home, my Lord?" he asked.

"Perhaps, Gulang. I hope so," Dreibrand answered.

Gulang heard in the cautious reply of his lord their shared longing for home. Although the refugee warrior had not lived long in Nufal, he had felt certain of his future happiness in Dreibrand’s beautiful wild country, where their wives waited.

Although Kashil wished for quick success as well, he knew how much needed to be done in his homeland before they could return to Nufal. He said, "My Lord, I have been hoping for a chance to see you."

Dreibrand invited Kashil away from the group and created a little zone of privacy. Kashil was heartened by Dreibrand’s immediate attention. Dreibrand’s long seclusion and apparent disinterest in reports had made him nervous.

Kashil said, "I wanted to let you know that my people are getting restless. They…well Sir, they think you are keeping Metchlan prisoner, which I’m not really sure I could dispute." Kashil looked purposefully toward the building that housed the rebel leader. "I do not think that the rebels will stick to the peace much longer," he warned.

Dreibrand dragged his mind a little farther out of the bog of his grief. He needed to start taking action. "Your assessment, Kashil, I am sure is correct, but keep promoting the peace. Many people must like it better than strife. The slave markets are closed, and the Atrophane no longer impress villagers into work gangs. Now that I have spending money, you can organize some kind of public work project. Start it immediately. I will pay for labor and supplies," Dreibrand proposed.

The idea brightened Kashil, who agreed with the potential of public projects for curbing discontent.

"Good. Do the best you can," Dreibrand said.

"I have ideas about what needs to be done, Sir. After we discuss them, I will begin the projects that you approve," Kashil said.

"I give you complete authority to act at your discretion, Kashil. I trust you," Dreibrand said while his eyes tracked Cevlead, who was moving down the line of wagons and giving orders to the soldiers unloading the supplies.

Although flattered, Kashil plainly looked intimidated by the responsibility. Dreibrand waved for Cevlead to come over and then quickly gave Kashil some encouragement. "I have seen how you want to help your people. You will do a good job." Dreibrand set a hand on Kashil’s shoulder and added, "I need you to take care of your people. I must take care of the Empire."

Drawing confidence from Dreibrand’s reliance on him, Kashil nodded with resolve and said that he would do his best.

Cevlead jogged up with a package in his hands, and Kashil understood that his lord wanted urgently to debrief his Atrophane ally. Satisfied by his brief meeting with Dreibrand, he excused himself.

Cevlead extended a box wrapped in soft leather. "Your special request," he said.

Dreibrand tucked the package under his arm. "You have been a true friend, Cevlead. Shall we go talk?" he said.

"Of course," Cevlead agreed.

Servants had two basins of water and fresh towels waiting when Dreibrand reached his quarters. They were no longer the two slaves who had initially served him. After Dreibrand had freed them, one man had looked him in the eye and then walked away never to be seen again. The other slave had stayed on with the promise of pay, and a young woman had been hired from the town to replace the servant who had left. Dreibrand asked them to bring refreshment.

"Go ahead, Cevlead, wash up first," Dreibrand said.

Cevlead enjoyed the familiarity that Dreibrand displayed with him. They were friends, and in private, no formality was necessary. He removed his gauntlets and helmet and splashed water on his face. He especially massaged the soothing warm water on the circles under his eyes.

Dreibrand walked into his bedroom, unbuckled his chinstrap with one hand, and pulled off his helmet. He turned the package over in his hands before unwrapping the protective leather binding to reveal a velvet jewelry case. He undid the delicate clasp, walked to a window, and cracked open a shutter. The clouds were thinning and he tilted the box into the watery rays of light. He smiled wistfully, thinking of Miranda. When he shut the box, he stared into space wishing that he could have Miranda’s counsel during the difficult days ahead. He wondered what she would think of the decision that waited for his acceptance like a stray cat that refused to move on.

I am trying to get home, Miranda. I am trying, he thought.

Dreibrand added the jewelry box to his other personal possessions that he still kept packed in his saddlebags hanging over the footboard of the bed. As he slipped the box inside, he paused to contemplate the bracelet that had belonged to Sandin. It glowed inside the bag, and the pure white light guided his mind back to that ugly day when he had claimed the crystal. Shoving the bag away, he took off his hood and armored jacket.

"Is your wife’s gift to your liking?" Cevlead asked as he wiped his face.

"Oh, yes. Thank you for going to the extra trouble," Dreibrand said and walked back into the front room.

"That was the least of my troubles," Cevlead remarked. The servants returned with wine, and Cevlead gratefully accepted a cup.

Dreibrand had a cup poured as well, and he invited Cevlead to sit with him at the table. He then toasted Cevlead for a job well done.

Cevlead accepted the compliment gladly, but waited until the servants shut the door on their way out before he said, "I understood how important my mission was. My choices have put me in your camp for the rest of my life."

Sensing easily Cevlead’s disquiet, Dreibrand asked, "Does Carfu know the extent to which you have collaborated with me?"

Cevlead admitted that he was not sure. "I guess the fact that I am here proves that he did not, at the time, suspect me of being a traitor."

"You are no traitor, Cevlead," Dreibrand insisted and poured Cevlead more wine. "All of these soldiers at least deserved their pay. And paying imperial troops is very important to the security of the western Empire."

"You always know how to put things so well," Cevlead said.

"I would not have gotten this far without that skill," Dreibrand admitted. "And, Cevlead, I would not have you think that serving me makes you a traitor."

"Forgive me. I chose my words poorly," Cevlead said, but misgiving tinged his voice like the burgundy reflection of the wine along the rim of the silver cup. "I just did not expect to feel so bad about misrepresenting myself to the Governor. I played things like you said to. I was simply an officer on a mission to get supplies and deliver messages. I guess Carfu believed my act, but I expect he has figured me out by now. The amount I withdrew from my Clan bank is sure to start rumors. I had trouble keeping the transaction a secret."

"Oh, why was that? Banking with your own Clan should provide complete security," Dreibrand said.

"Yes, but when I showed them all those gems that I had to exchange, they knew that I could only be assembling an army payroll. And quite frankly, no one in my Clan expects me to be capable of obtaining such treasure on my own." Cevlead sighed with frustration for his mediocre reputation, even within his own family, and continued, "I was confronted by the bank executives, who accused me of collaborating with you. They call you Veta the Usurper in Phemnalang by the way."

The term did not upset Dreibrand, who said, "I suppose I will take that as a sign of respect. So, what precisely were your troubles with the bank?"

"They feared that I was single-handedly aligning Clan Fanlyre with the House of Veta," Cevlead said.

"And you are not accustomed to wielding such power?" Dreibrand teased.

Cevlead rolled his eyes, recalling his distress. "They wanted to call a full meeting of the Clan elders to investigate my actions of the past year. But when I explained to them that such an extreme action would surely call public attention to my activities, they backed down. After all, they certainly wanted the gems that I was converting, and I emphasized the potential of my proposed settlement in the Wilderness for adding to Clan wealth. But I did have to concede to being charged another two percent on the transaction."

 Dreibrand shook his head sympathetically. "That is rough being charged extra by your own Clan," he said.

Cevlead sagged in his chair. "Oh, I deserved it. Assembling such a large payroll so quickly forced them to work with other banks, which ultimately makes keeping it secret impossible. I will probably get my Clan censured," he lamented.

"Oh that is doubtful," Dreibrand declared. "Trust me, you do not get censured for banking."

Cevlead smiled uncomfortably, as a thief imprisoned with a murderer might smile.

Dreibrand bade him to give his full report of his dealings with Carfu.

Priming himself with his wine, Cevlead related his conversation with the Governor of Phemnalang.

Dreibrand absorbed the information. His rusty mind creaked through his analysis but gathered speed.

"So, it seems that Carfu decided rather quickly that he would come himself to negotiate with me," Dreibrand said.

"Oh, yes. He considered no other option," Cevlead affirmed.

 Dreibrand frowned. An emotional decision. Not entirely like Carfu. I remember him as a careful thinker, not quick to anger. And he certainly had no love for the frontier. This is not good, Dreibrand worried. Although Carfu and Sandin had been lifelong friends, Dreibrand had some trouble grasping that someone could be seriously upset about Sandin’s passing from the world.

"You did a fine job, Cevlead," Dreibrand praised again, but Cevlead was not cheered. He touched the golden embroidery on his blue sleeve as if giving a deceased loved one a farewell touch at the funeral. When he looked up, his eyes were laden with vulnerability.

"Dreibrand, when I was in Phemnalang, I represented your interests well, I swear, but the whole time I was still pretending that things were normal for me. But things are not normal for me. I am not just an Atrophane officer performing his duty, am I? I do not think that I can even call myself an officer anymore," he concluded.

Dreibrand appreciated the young man’s identity crisis. "You, Cevlead, are twice the officer that I ever was," he said and meant it.

Although his heart gratefully soaked up the kind statement, Cevlead shook his head. "I defected to your side on the field of battle. Looking back, I cannot regret that decision. Sandin would have gotten everybody killed. And I believe that you saved us from King Shan, but that does not mean that I am still an Atrophane officer. I should have gone to argue with the Darhet and convince him to withdraw. That was my duty, but I was a coward instead," he said.

"You know that Sandin would not have listened to you," Dreibrand said knowingly. "Stop disparaging actions that you do not regret. You were the only noble on that battlefield who was brave enough to make the hard choice. The dangerous choice."

Cevlead whirled out of his chair and faced the shuttered windows. Being told that he was courageous and correct did not heal his lacerated honor. The gloom of Dreibrand’s room depressed him, hinting that not even Dreibrand had a clear conscience.

Dreibrand accepted his responsibility for causing his friend’s turmoil, which he understood very well. "Cevlead, I am sorry for confusing your loyalties. I am deeply grateful for your help—you know that. But it is not too late if you want to change your mind about joining me in Nufal. You can leave here and report to Carfu. I will not resent you for making that decision," Dreibrand said.

The generous offer, freely given, helped Cevlead choose between his desires and his fears. He would not try to deflect the consequences of his actions by crawling back to Carfu. Cevlead knew what he wanted. He had already risked the reputation of his Clan on his personal ambition, and giving up now would be worse than failing.

"No!" Cevlead said firmly. He turned around, and his face showed his determination to fight for his dreams. "Dreibrand, everything I have done, I did because I want to be like you. I want to start a settlement, and be its respected lord. I want to live in Nufal and look upon the grandeur of the great new land every day and know that part of it is mine. I want to live in your world."

Impressed by the outburst, Dreibrand said, "Then you shall, Cevlead. All that remains to be done is making an arrangement with the Empire that will allow us to live in peace. But to help me do that, you must show Carfu that you are on my side."

"Yes, Dreibrand, I will, but I will do it as Lord Cevlead of Clan Fanlyre, not as Commander Fanlyre of the Atrophane army. If I had my actions to do again, I would not change them, but I have disgraced my uniform. I will put my resignation in writing tomorrow," Cevlead decided.

Dreibrand frowned with disapproval. "Cevlead, you are upset; do not act hastily," he said. "I need to convince Carfu of my military power, and I need loyal officers around me to show that.  It is best for us that you keep that uniform on."

Cevlead sighed and realized that trying to allay his guilt would not serve their purposes. "You are right, Dreibrand, and I will keep up the good act, but I know in my heart that my military career is over," he said. He returned to his seat and poured a third cup of wine.

Dreibrand tilted his half-full cup toward Cevlead and said, "To your short but soon to be very successful military career."

Cevlead accepted the toast and fueled his temper by draining the cup. "What do I care what Carfu thinks anyway?" he said. "He is just Sandin’s puppet. When I asked Carfu to stop the seizure of the Fayeth fortune, he would not even attempt to raise the subject with Clan Promentro. All the Fayeth vessels, warehouses, and accounts were taken by the time I arrived anyway. I was helpless."

He moaned, miserable about his failure. Saving Madame Fayeth’s assets had been a personal goal of his trip.

"Damn that bastard, Sandin. I begged him to leave Madame Fayeth alone. I am glad that you killed him," Cevlead said with true spite.

Sharing his disappointment, Dreibrand regretted terribly that Madame Fayeth had suffered financial ruin because of her association with him. When Cevlead had informed him that Sandin had ordered her financial demise because of his and Atarek’s letters, Dreibrand had been appalled by his careless mistake. I should have never gone along with one of Atarek’s ideas, he thought. "I will make it up to her," he murmured.

"You should not have to," Cevlead complained. "And Madame Fayeth will not like accepting charity."

"It is hardly charity. I owe it to her," Dreibrand said.

"I wish I could have done something," Cevlead lamented. His noble rank felt so useless to him sometimes.

"I know you tried your best," Dreibrand said. "Go get some rest, Cevlead."

Long days in the saddle coupled with the worry that rebels might attack his treasure-laden caravan had wearied Cevlead substantially. Lulled by the wine, he accepted Dreibrand’s recommendation and they bid each other good night.

As soon as Cevlead left, Dreibrand began pacing. Thoughts pounded across his mind like marching soldiers. In his rising distress, he considered simply going home. The Wilderness could protect him even without a treaty, and he doubted the Empire had much inclination to mount another military campaign to the west any time soon.

But fear of another defeat delivered by King Shan might not deter the Atrophane forever, and Dreibrand could not afford to leave open the chance that Shan could be provoked again. Peace was the best protection for the future of his family and the Nufalese settlers. Peace was also the best option for protecting his parents in distant Atrophane. Although Dreibrand had lacked a close relationship with them, he was the family heir now and the new connection reminded him of his old dream of lifting the Vetas back to their former glory within Atrophane society. When he had told his son to think only of Nufal, he had done so because he wanted to shelter Deltane from their disgrace in the homeland, but not because he wanted to deny his children their heritage. They were Atrophane nobles and they deserved their birthright.

I will not give up, Dreibrand decided, but his pride struggled against the plan he had devised to achieve his goals. To get what he wanted from the Atrophane Empire, Dreibrand would have to give something in return.

20. The Final Jewel

"I swear you cheat," Metchlan complained and tossed his losing cards on the table.

Faychan jotted down the score on a piece of paper. "You teach me this game," he defended.

Metchlan gave his mandatory companion a withering glance and intercepted the cards that Faychan was collecting on the table. "It is my deal," Metchlan said.

Faychan lifted his hands with dramatic innocence, and Metchlan had to smile a little bit. Despite the reality of his house arrest, Metchlan occasionally admitted to himself that he liked Faychan. The western man was interesting, and as his use of the Bosta language improved, his ideas often lingered in Metchlan’s thoughts.

Before shuffling, Metchlan inspected the deck as if doubting that all the cards were present. With disgust he flipped a card face up on the table. "Where the hell was that nine when I needed it?" he said.

"I not want nine. Not look for nine," Faychan said.

Metchlan narrowed his eyes at Faychan before putting the card back in the deck. Beginning his deft one-handed shuffle, he said, "I feel like nobody is looking for me either. Your precious Lord Dreibrand seems to have forgotten that I exist. Tell me, Faychan, he does not give one squat about the Bostas, does he? I cannot believe I ever listened to him." Metchlan shook his head and dealt the cards.

"He free your men," Faychan reminded.

Metchlan growled irritably. "That was months ago. After being locked up all winter, I must be a joke among the Bostas now."

"They still in peace. Obey you," Faychan said.

Metchlan wanted to interpret the inactivity of the rebels as representative of the long reach of his authority, but he knew his people, and especially his rebel fighters. He shrugged. "They are just waiting for a good time to start fighting again. People need to plant their crops right now, and those rys that hang around here make them cautious, and rightly so."

Faychan did not comment and focused on arranging his cards in his hand.

"My fighters probably think I am a traitor," Metchlan lamented.

Faychan looked up sharply. "No, you Bosta lord," he said.

Metchlan laughed. "Oh, I forgot. I am supposed to assume leadership of the Bosta Territory after I magically toss out the Atrophane with Dreibrand’s treaty. If that ever happens."

A warm spring rain pattered outside, and dripped on the bars installed outside the window. "Diplomats come soon," Faychan predicted.

"And then Dreibrand will probably turn me over to imperial justice so he can look like he is a good little Atrophane again," Metchlan said.

Although Faychan accepted that Metchlan had cause for cynicism, Faychan doubted that Dreibrand would use the man so badly. "Dreibrand wants you friend of Nufal," Faychan insisted.

With a huff, Metchlan said, "Then why doesn’t he discuss with me his grand scheme for freeing the west of imperial control? He never explained that one to me, and he said he would after I announced our peace. Just what is his plan, Faychan, dear buddy?"

Faychan, much to his dislike, had not been able to discuss with Dreibrand the details behind his big promises to Metchlan about Bosta independence.

"Better if he tell it," Faychan said. "I might not use right words."

"I guess you don’t know anything either," Metchlan grumbled.

Annoyed by the comment, Faychan soothed himself with what he did know. Before Dreibrand had secluded himself, he had confided to Faychan that he needed to avoid overt coziness with Metchlan or any of the Bostas until the soldiers had their pay. Despite their goal of befriending the Bosta leadership and forming the territory into a buffer state, Dreibrand had insisted that the Atrophane had to be his priority.

Because courting the loyalty of the Atrophane required Dreibrand to ignore his infamous Bosta guest, Faychan absorbed the opportunity to cultivate Metchlan’s friendship. And his efforts were starting to succeed. Growing restless and careless, Metchlan gravitated toward Faychan’s sympathetic company, and the Bosta leader began to reveal interesting details about his rebel network. Faychan encouraged the displays of trust from Metchlan and provided him favors, such as passing messages to the outside, in return.

Progress with Metchlan, however, did not distract Faychan from the larger situation. Although Dreibrand had provided a good reason for his inaction concerning the Bosta leader, Faychan had started to suspect that Dreibrand was privately altering the plans that they had discussed. Faychan accepted that Dreibrand had to reassess their strategy now that Shan was no longer present to deal with the Empire, but Dreibrand’s unwillingness to discuss the subject bothered Faychan.

Does he plot something with Parlim, his newly purchased ally? I already know what he has promised Cevlead, Faychan thought, working through the possibilities for the hundredth time that day.

Whatever was going on in Dreibrand’s head, Faychan would have to know soon.

Metchlan’s patience with his situation had eroded completely. While playing a card, he leaned across the table and whispered, "I know the Atrophane much better than you do. They stick with each other. You might want to consider throwing your lot in with me. You could get me out of here, and then I could give you a place in my force."

Without looking up, Faychan drew a card from the deck and considered its usefulness. He had wondered when Metchlan would tempt him into arranging his escape. Not that Metchlan had much to offer, but Faychan preferred to operate from many angles. He tucked the new card into his hand and discarded another one. Faychan certainly had the authority to escort the guest out of the military compound if he wanted to. Although the Atrophane soldiers called him a barbarian behind his back, Faychan had never had one of them question his activities. He had concluded that Atrophane were in general quite smart.

He abruptly made eye contact with Metchlan, finally indicating that he had heard the rebel leader’s bold statement. The bell rang at the gate and Faychan pursued the distraction instead of responding.

"We see who here," he suggested and got up from the table. Metchlan followed him to the window, and they watched two Atrophaney scouts ride into the compound on mud-spattered mounts.

"We stay for news," Faychan said, and he gave Metchlan a conspiratorial wink.

Metchlan extracted some hope from the sign of cooperation from his barbarian keeper. Wanting to maintain the friendly atmosphere, Metchlan joked, "Come on. I can let you win another, Faychan."

They played cards through the afternoon until the arrival of the supply caravan provided a more interesting diversion. Observing the situation from the room of the Bosta leader, Faychan watched Dreibrand and Cevlead go into the main building. Not being able to hear Cevlead’s report naturally irked Faychan.

In the background, Metchlan was complaining extensively about the spectacle he had witnessed. Delighted Atrophane soldiers and a full treasury in Droxy did not please him.

Faychan decided that listening to Metchlan complain had value. Dangling the possibility that he might actually help the rebel leader escape was opening the man up immensely. Metchlan had just said that he knew right where to go to begin rallying his fighters.

Faychan abandoned his post by the window. Out of liquor since the new year, he settled in with his evening bottle of wine. He had begun to find the flavor of eastern wine acceptable.

He and Metchlan chatted through the bottle, comparing opinions about various guerrilla warfare techniques. Faychan’s insights on the subject impressed Metchlan, but Faychan did not entirely reveal the roots of his expertise. He stated merely that he had lived as a mercenary in the west and did not mention the infamous Kezanada society and his rise and fall from power.

Although Metchlan provided interesting conversation, the drinking failed to cure Faychan’s irritation with Dreibrand, who surely had received important news. As the evening wore on, Faychan tired of waiting for a summons from Dreibrand, which in his opinion would have been appropriate. Faychan stood up and stretched lazily. A year later, he still felt a slight sting where the arrow had pierced his torso during his flight from his homeland.

"Leaving so soon?" Metchlan said, looking almost vulnerable.

"Too much news to hear," Faychan explained.

Abruptly, Metchlan jumped out of his chair and intercepted Faychan before he got too close to the door. Faychan tensed slightly in reaction to the sudden movement. His battle-trained nerves always stayed ready for an unlikely attack.

Pitching his voice low so that the guards in the hall would not hear, Metchlan said, "If you learn that Dreibrand is going to execute me or send me to an imperial prison, please, Faychan, let me get away."

The humble and fearful entreaty interested Faychan, who had come to expect only defiance from the rebel leader. Faychan nodded and buried his urge to smile.

He knocked on the door and said his name. In the hall, the wooden bar clunked against the door as the Atrophaney soldier on duty lifted it and allowed Faychan to exit. Even if Dreibrand had shut himself away as usual, Faychan expected to gather plenty of news around the base.

******

 At noon the next day, Dreibrand awoke. The purity of his sleep surprised him and refreshed him after months of enduring light sleep tormented by bad dreams. His doubt and sorrow no longer tethered his thoughts to his crippling guilt over Atarek. He credited his release to finally making the difficult decision to seek the future that he and his people needed. He alone had the power to protect them, especially his family, and once again he found strength in his responsibility.

After bathing and dressing, Dreibrand forced down some breakfast. Great stress had taxed his body as well as his mind. Even without an appetite, he knew he had to begin nourishing himself physically. He noticed that the fit of his pants had loosened.

Dreibrand decided to get some badly needed exercise. He grabbed his armored jacket and noted that a few plates had been knocked loose. He would have to get them repaired soon because he would need to look his best for the imperial delegates. After donning the plated jacket, he buckled on his sword. With his helmet under his arm, he left his quarters and went to the practice yard where the officers kept in fighting form. His unexpected arrival startled the sparring commanders. They stopped their workouts and kneeled to the Lord General. Their immediate respect encouraged Dreibrand.

"Who wants a new sparring partner?" Dreibrand inquired.

The commanders looked among themselves. One said, "You would practice with us?"

"I have to practice with somebody," Dreibrand said. "And you could learn a move or two from me, I am sure." He strapped on his helmet and told them to decide who would go first while he warmed up.

Drawing his sword, Dreibrand started moving through the basic fighting form that any military academy graduate would know. As he swung his sword, stepping forward and to each side, his heart began to pump, reviving his body and mind. Then, he passed a rack of weapons and grabbed another sword. His moves became faster and more elaborate. Both weapons slashed and spun, and his feet danced the steps of an imaginary combat. His fighting skills reassured him. Even if his heart was broken, he retained the body of a powerful warrior.

With a final intimidating flourish, he stopped in front of his audience of commanders. Breathing hard, he asked who was ready.

After a moment of collective hesitation within the group, one man stepped forward. He regarded Dreibrand’s enchanted sword warily and asked, "My Lord will not kill me will he?"

"No," Dreibrand said. "Now come on. Get rid of that shield and pick up another weapon. Give me your best."

The commander complied and tentatively engaged his superior. Dreibrand and he traded a few experimental blows before Dreibrand turned aggressive. He drove back the commander, besting him with his speed, and slapping him with the flat of his weapon. Then, he used both swords and deftly pinned his opponent’s blades between them. Before the commander could pull back, Dreibrand twisted his weapons down and kicked the man over. The commander brought his weapons back up, but his reaction was too slow to save him. His neck was precariously at the intersection of Dreibrand’s blades.

Dreibrand only let him linger in awkward defeat for a moment before he retracted his weapons. He bowed politely, sheathed his enchanted sword, and offered the commander a hand up.

"Indeed, my Lord has much to teach me," the commander said.

Dreibrand assured him that he fought well, and then he invited two officers to come at him at the same time. He traded his second sword for a shield this time and sparred with two opponents.

After all the commanders had taken a turn with their leader and everyone had worked up a good sweat, Dreibrand started to instruct them in some of the elements of his techniques. A few moves were familiar to the commanders from their training at the academy, but obviously Dreibrand had studied and practiced the art of combat far more than what was needed to get a passing grade.

Dreibrand set the commanders to sparring with each other again and gave them advice as they attempted new moves. He circled the yard, commenting on footwork and angle of weapons until he noticed Faychan observing from the behind the weapons rack. Dreibrand wondered how long the mercenary had been standing there. He thanked the officers for letting him join in their workout and told them to carry on. The sparring men slowed briefly and glanced curiously at Faychan before resuming their exercises.

Faychan came around the rack. "Dreibrand Veta, a rare sight indeed," he said in the western tongue.

Dreibrand noted that Faychan had been letting his hair grow, and its length showed how much time Dreibrand had let slip by since speaking with his clever counselor. 

"Yes, it has been a while," Dreibrand admitted.

"Too long," Faychan said.

The westerner’s normally inscrutable face revealed his offense, and Dreibrand regretted that he had made Faychan feel isolated. Faychan was the last man that Dreibrand would want to cause worry.

"Forgive my inattention. I ask that you not take it personally," Dreibrand said.

Faychan summoned all of his intuitive skills for judging a man’s heart, but he sensed no duplicity in Dreibrand. Indeed, his request, spoken with an apologetic tone, reminded Faychan of his fondness for Dreibrand. The flush of one workout had not erased the careworn appearance of the Lord of Nufal, and Faychan reluctantly considered that his important Atrophaney friend had been absent for personal reasons. The death of Atarek had been hard on Dreibrand.

Perhaps I could have granted him time to grieve before suspecting a plot against me, Faychan thought although such charitable allowances grated his character.

Without revealing his sympathy, Faychan said, "I am not angry, Dreibrand, but I was concerned."

"I have been concerned by many things as well," Dreibrand said. He pulled off his helmet and shook out his sweaty hair. "I will need your help in the coming weeks."

"I suppose my support would have something to do with the rumor that the imperial diplomats are on their way here," Faychan said.

Dreibrand enjoyed Faychan’s use of the word rumor. The talented spy was obviously flaunting that he did not need Dreibrand to stay well informed, even in the eastern world.

"In as soon as two weeks, the delegation will be here, led by Governor Carfu of Phemnalang. He and I are well acquainted with each other," Dreibrand said, offering details like little apologies.

Interest sweetened Faychan’s tone. "I am anxious to discuss your plans for the negotiation," he said.

Visibly sobered by the subject, Dreibrand said that they would gather Parlim and Cevlead and meet with Metchlan immediately to discuss that subject.

But a private conversation with Dreibrand was very overdue and Faychan said, "Our relationship is not such that I hear things in meetings."

Dreibrand considered their relationship. It had been founded on his closeness to Shan, but Dreibrand believed that, even without Shan, he could repair Faychan’s alienation.

I still am more useful to him than any other man, Dreibrand thought, and he welcomed the spurt of confidence.

"Indulge me this one time, Faychan, but I do not want to discuss my plan. I have made my decision, and the negotiation will take the course that I set," Dreibrand declared.

Faychan casually touched one of the swords hanging on the rack and warned Dreibrand that his chances of persuading Metchlan to remain cooperative had withered.

"He still knows that he needs me," Dreibrand said.

Faychan responded that Dreibrand would have to be far more charming than that with the Bosta leader.

"I know," Dreibrand admitted. He could imagine the mood of his hostage.

Faychan advised that they privately discuss how best to handle Metchlan, hold a preparatory meeting with Metchlan, and then include the others.

Such steps were logical, but Dreibrand had no patience for delicately convincing Metchlan or the Empire what would ultimately be dictated to both parties. "It is time for coming together," Dreibrand insisted. "We will all meet right now and hear my plan at the same time."

Faychan had spent his career listening for hidden truths, and he surgically inquired, "Do you think I would talk you out of this decision you have made?"

Although Faychan was close to the truth as usual, Dreibrand avoided being baited into a discussion. He wanted to announce his plan to his associates as a group because it would cement his commitment to it. 

"My mind will not change," Dreibrand answered. "But I think you will like what I have to say. Perhaps even more than me."

Truly intrigued, Faychan surmised that Dreibrand was planning something big, which was enticing in itself. "Still, Dreibrand, we should talk. I could offer insights that you have—"

Dreibrand cut him off. "I want your opinions after the meeting, Faychan," he said.

With a grumpy expression, Faychan resigned himself to enduring Dreibrand’s dramatics. A taste of my own medicine? he thought, but his faith in Dreibrand was no longer shaken by suspicion because he believed that Dreibrand still needed him.

They startled Parlim in his office because he had become accustomed to his Lord General’s absence. Standing quickly behind his desk, he looked from Dreibrand to Faychan. The shorter barbarian, whose well-formed physique belied his grumbling about aches and pains, had an unsettling air about him, especially when he stood at the right hand of the Lord General.

Dreibrand informed the lieutenant that he would join them at a meeting with Metchlan, where they would strategize for their negotiation with imperial authorities. Parlim offered his opinion that paid troops with supplies and Metchlan in custody were all the negotiation the Bostas needed with the Empire.

Although understanding of the lieutenant’s discomfort, Dreibrand said, "I invite you, Lieutenant, because you deserve to know what is going to happen."

Parlim doubted that he wanted to know what the renegade Lord General’s strategy was going to be with the Bostas. The knowledge in itself would probably be borderline treason, but Parlim decided that he could look after his interests better if he knew Dreibrand’s intentions. Ignorance is never bliss in the Bosta Territory, Parlim thought.

"As you wish, my Lord," Parlim said.

 They collected Cevlead and went to the barracks where Metchlan was housed on the second level. The boots of the four men banged on the wooden steps and alerted the guards to snap to attention. The presence of Dreibrand obviously surprised the soldiers, but they saluted him promptly.

"Open it up," Dreibrand ordered.

One soldier unbarred the door and the other pulled it open. Dreibrand entered swiftly with his associates in tow. Metchlan was standing nervously near the barred window. He doubted that the sudden arrival of his Atrophane keepers boded well for him.

He glanced at Faychan in the hopes of determining his level of danger. "What is going on?" he demanded with his usual boldness.

"Let us talk," Dreibrand said.

Metchlan sneered with disgust. "I am surprised you have the nerve to look me in the face after the way you have treated me," he said.

"And I am surprised that you would question my nerve," Dreibrand countered. "I have been fair with you. This military base has far less appealing places where I could have put you. Now, Metchlan, I have come here today with my associates in order to discuss our future." Dreibrand gestured to the table where Metchlan and Faychan had played cards through the winter. Only two chairs adjoined the table, and Dreibrand asked the guards to find chairs for everyone.

 As the guards started bringing in more chairs for the impromptu meeting, Parlim protested, "I am not going to sit at the same table as this rebel."

The lieutenant and the rebel bristled with mutual hostility, and Metchlan decided that he was not going to be outdone by the Atrophane’s prejudice. He grabbed a chair from a soldier and seated himself firmly. "And I will not stand on the same floor as this heartless oppressor," he declared.

Dreibrand joined Metchlan at the table and gestured for the others to sit. Parlim did not budge. Exploring his new role as peacemaker, Dreibrand said, "Lieutenant Parlim, Metchlan, you both have cause to hate each other. But please, let the peace that has endured these past months inspire you. I know that Lieutenant Parlim has no desire to linger in this useless stalemate between the army and the rebels. And, Metchlan, I believe that you are capable of seeking a better future for the Bostas than continually forcing the Atrophane to be harsh."

Stubbornly, Metchlan said, "I will not sit at a table with Atrophane and speak in your language. Dreibrand Veta, I have heard your fluency in my language. If you would talk peace with me, you must speak Bosta as a sign of good faith."

Although Dreibrand did not want to compromise his authority by giving into a demand early in the conversation, he conceded the point. Using the Bosta language, he said, "I will speak in both languages to clarify my points as necessary."

Returning to the Atrophaney tongue, Dreibrand coaxed Parlim toward a chair. Without giving Parlim a direct order, he persuaded Parlim that his hostility would accomplish nothing except hindering progress.

After Faychan and Cevlead took their seats, Parlim reluctantly occupied the last chair. He soothed himself by directing a searing look at Metchlan. He preferred to simply behead the one-handed rebel, but intellectually, Parlim embraced the possibility that, if Dreibrand could bring lasting peace to the territory, then Parlim could have an easier and safer career. He was sick of being the master of people who hated him.

Bringing the meeting around to a cordial tone, Dreibrand said, "Metchlan, you remember Commander Fanlyre."

Cevlead noted how Dreibrand emphasized his military title and then exchanged obligatory greetings with Metchlan.

Dreibrand asked the Atrophane officers to be patient with him while he spoke to Metchlan in the Bosta language.

"Metchlan, I apologize for detaining you and separating you from your honor guard. Your companions have been well treated. I thank you for delivering the peace that we negotiated. I am impressed with the force of your authority in the region. Your decision has made a pleasant future possible for all of us. In approximately two weeks, the Atrophane delegation will be here, led by the Governor of Phemnalang. Therefore, it is time for us to have that talk I promised you. I am eager to hear your strategic ideas for the upcoming negotiation."

"It is about time!" Metchlan huffed. "I have many ideas."

He began to list his demands that would be the focus of the negotiation. As he detailed his desires for the Atrophane to withdraw to the Cinivese border and that he be installed as the Bosta king, Faychan admired how Dreibrand calmly feigned great interest in Metchlan’s rambling.

When Metchlan finished his first round, Dreibrand nodded. "I agree with your overall goals, Metchlan," he said. "I will definitely support your authority in this region. I owe you that much at least. However, I think this strategy needs some alterations to make it more effective, although I agree with it in spirit."

Metchlan sat back in his chair with a cynical look on his face. He doubted he would like Dreibrand’s counter proposal.

Dreibrand continued, "I suggest that the stance of our offer be this: one, the Bosta Territory must be admitted to the Empire as a proper civil province, free of martial law. You will be appointed provincial governor; and two,"

Metchlan balked immediately. "What?!" he cried. "I want no part of your Empire."

A soldier poked his head in the door, checking to see if the rebel leader needed to be restrained. Dreibrand waved him back, and the soldier withdrew.

"You are part of the Empire," Dreibrand stated bluntly.

"You bastard," Metchlan snarled and swung his one hand across the table. Dreibrand did not flinch, and Faychan grabbed the rebel’s arm and expertly twisted him back into his seat. The firm grip of the barbarian startled Metchlan into controlling himself.

"You say you want this talk," Faychan reminded as if he had organized the meeting as a special favor to Metchlan.

Dreibrand thanked Faychan for the assistance and then continued in the Bosta language. "Metchlan, I know that this upsets you, but this is the best strategy. Many people live well in the Empire. I agree that you have suffered under martial law, and I am ready to insist that it be ended. Now, imagine this: civil government with you as the regional leader. Is that not essentially what you have been striving for? And as part of the Empire, you can coexist in peace with the rest of the world, benefit from trade, especially as traffic increases to the western lands, and if your regime should be challenged by other rebels, you receive military support from the Empire."

Metchlan sputtered as if Dreibrand poured a bucket of water down his throat. "What makes you think that I can accept this?" he demanded. "You want me to settle down and be a good boy so you can patch things up with the Atrophane, and then you will go back to your free settlements in the Wilderness and enjoy your renegade ways."

Dreibrand shook his head and appeared very troubled. Before speaking, he visited again the place in his mind that told him he was making the right decision.

"No. You did not let me finish, Metchlan," he said. "I will propose that Nufal join the Atrophane Empire as well. It is the best way to establish lasting peace. It will leave the Atrophane nothing to conquer, and I will retain control of my territory."

The plan surprised Metchlan and disturbed him. If Dreibrand were truly serious about offering his territory to the Empire, then imperial domains would surround the Bostas.

Faychan had caught most of what Dreibrand had said. More than the others, Faychan understood how much Dreibrand dreamed of establishing himself as a king of a new country. The decision to join the Empire explained a great deal of Dreibrand’s turmoil, but considering that Shan was no longer on their side, Faychan immediately accepted the strategy. It was not the plan that pride would have chosen, but it was a wise choice.

We do not need to be separate from the Empire to be powerful, Faychan reasoned approvingly.

Dreibrand explained to the Atrophane officers what he had said. Parlim looked pleasantly surprised. Learning that he had not been cooperating with an incorrigible renegade relieved him of much worry. Cevlead was enthused as well. He could start a settlement and remain connected to his homeland.

Cevlead said, "Lord Dreibrand, it is grand vision. You will make the Atrophane Empire complete with your generous offer."

Dreibrand smiled wistfully. When he was a younger man, such thoughts had been the bright glow in the fire of his ambition. With a sigh, Dreibrand divulged his less glorious reasons for forsaking his independence. "I must admit that only this gesture on my part will cause the Empire to forgive my killing of Sandin Promentro. His Clan is very powerful, and the legitimacy of my duel cannot erase the Clan’s certain animosity toward me. But presenting the Empire with the Wilderness, the final jewel in its crown, will appease the ruling class as a whole. And it should be payment enough to get my censure revoked."

Metchlan, who understood a great deal of Atrophaney, broke in. "That is just wonderful for you, Dreibrand Veta. But what do I care? The Bostas do not want to be part of your Empire. Your people conquered us and used us like cattle. Do you think I, or anyone else, will just forget that and join your happy family?"

"The Empire brings peace and prosperity if you would let it," Dreibrand argued. "Would you rather not rise to power and free your people by a method other than continually getting villages burned? We can do this if you would be my ally Metchlan. You have proved your power already by delivering peace with your word alone. The people are weary of fighting and ready to follow you into better times."

Metchlan rubbed his temple with his one hand. He began to wonder if this proposal was just an elaborate torture that Dreibrand had devised for him. "The Bostas are not ready for this. They expect me to fight for independence." Metchlan said.

Dreibrand drew encouragement from the statement. It indicated that Metchlan was actually considering the idea. He said, "Metchlan, tell your followers, your fighters, that they have won their goal. The Empire recognizes your worthiness, and now is the time to negotiate your best deal. You will gain regional power, and would imperial flags over your towns and imperial coins in your pockets be so bad? I know that I can stomach that. It is a small price to be left in peace."

Metchlan shook his head miserably. "They will call me a traitor. They will make puppet shows about me in the market, and they will be right," he said.

"But they will get over it and you will be their governor," Dreibrand coaxed.

As if shaking off a silly fantasy, Metchlan declared, "I cannot believe I am even talking to you about this. I am a fool. I should have never agreed to come here. Virgin farm girls display more wit with sly suitors than I did when I accepted your deal. I am your prisoner and I will not pretend that I am anything more." He slapped his hand on the table, indicating that his judgment was final.

Dreibrand gestured openly. "No, no, Metchlan, you are free. And your honor guard too. From this moment forward. Either you will be my ally or you will go out and start the fighting again. So be it. I am not afraid to fight you. I simply do not want to."

Stunned by his abrupt release, Metchlan turned to Faychan for confirmation. The salty-haired barbarian nodded without hesitation even though he was not sure of Dreibrand’s sincerity.

 Dreibrand summoned the guards from the hallway. They looked expectantly at Metchlan, certain that they would finally haul him to less comfortable lodgings.

"Metchlan and his associates are free from this moment forward. Relay my order throughout the garrison," Dreibrand said.

Both soldiers hesitated, but then saluted and left.

Dreibrand said, "I can wait a little while for your answer, Metchlan. When Carfu arrives, come sit with me at the negotiating table, or… I regret that we could not become friends."

Metchlan considered his options intensely. It would be wisest to cooperate with Dreibrand, and Metchlan could even glimpse the appeal of Dreibrand’s vision for the future, but he hated how it tempted him to betray his deepest convictions. Sternly, Metchlan told himself that Dreibrand was only a useful interloper in the Bosta struggle. With the choices before him of negotiating for the governorship or resuming the rebellion, Metchlan greedily decided to have both.

 "You can have my answer now, Dreibrand of Nufal. Let us be allies," Metchlan said. As he extended his hand, it occurred to him that he had only one hand left to give the Atrophane.

Dreibrand grasped it gladly. "And let us allow the wounds of long conflict to heal," he added and gestured to Cevlead and Parlim to shake hands with Metchlan as well.

Cevlead complied. He was impressed with the results that Dreibrand’s appeasement of the Bostas had achieved so far.

Parlim, however, sat back and set his hands on his thighs. "It is sufficient for me that the Empire is served best by this deal, but I will not act as if I like you," he stated.

Metchlan seemed to actually respect the insult, and Dreibrand refrained from scolding the lieutenant. He did not require Parlim’s glowing approval.

Dreibrand called the meeting to a close, and everyone stood to leave. Metchlan eyed the door eagerly.

"How shall I contact you?" Dreibrand asked.

"I will be around," Metchlan said vaguely.

One of the guards returned. He announced that Metchlan’s men would be gathering outside soon. All the soldiers on duty were being alerted to the departure of the Bosta "guests."

"If you would excuse me," Metchlan said, feeling generous with his manners. He paused to thank Faychan for his companionship and then he followed the soldier out the door. He had no possessions to pack.

Once the rebel leader had descended the steps, Parlim commented warily, "My Lord is an exceptionally bold man to let him go."

"I can accomplish nothing more by detaining him. And his walking out of here will impress the Bostas. Their leader has become a great negotiator on their behalf," Dreibrand envisioned.

"Why elevate him?" Parlim grumbled.

Dreibrand explained, "For one thing, it will let us know where he is, and if martial law can be ended, I expect you would be free to serve in a more appealing portion of the Empire."

After four years on the frontier without one leave, Parlim had nearly resigned himself to a career of managing an unstable population. Looking down, he admitted that he would welcome a change.

Dreibrand said, "In addition to opening up your career options, Lieutenant, I mostly want peaceful civil government in the Bosta Territory because I have no desire for the Empire to be forced to mass troops on my border."

It is all about Nufal for him , Parlim thought. "Yes, my Lord. I see," he said.

Thoroughly pleased with Dreibrand’s strategies, Cevlead said, "My Lord, this plan will prove to the entire Empire that you are true to Atrophane. By the Gods, just joining the Empire does solve many problems. And just imagine, the Atrophane Empire will be the greatest human achievement ever. Our whole side of the world united and at peace. And the best open land for us, to shape as we please."

"Yes, Cevlead. It may be as grand as that," Dreibrand said. He shared his new friend’s enthusiasm, but the choice remained burdensome. The fact that he had actually announced his intention to place Nufal in the Empire persisted as a surreal element in his memory. Dreibrand knew that he had made a mature and humane choice, but the reality of making amends with his people still eluded him. He would make a great offer, but would Carfu accept it?

He told the officers to leave him but gestured for Faychan to stay. Both Cevlead and Parlim wondered what Dreibrand intended to discuss with his foreign counselor, but they accepted the dismissal. Faychan enjoyed having the officers turned out.

Dreibrand walked around the room where he had kept Metchlan. He pondered his surroundings as if he could get to know Metchlan better by treading the same floor where the rebel leader had paced, fearing quietly for his life.

Faychan broke the pensive silence. "Metchlan only agreed because he saw a chance to get out of here," he said.

Dreibrand stopped at the barred window and watched as the Bostas rushed out the gate. "He still agreed though, and he will play along for quite some time. He might even decide he likes the situation," Dreibrand speculated.

"Yes, he may," Faychan agreed reluctantly. "But I must continue to monitor him. I must go after him quickly before he disappears. I will tell him that I engineered his freedom."

Dreibrand looked over his shoulder and said, "He trusts you, doesn’t he, Faychan? I saw how he looks at you. You cradle him in your web."

Faychan arched his eyebrows as if daring Dreibrand to think that he was capable of anything less. 

Dreibrand continued, "Go to him as you plan, Faychan. Tell him what you want. But we must talk of other things first. I need you, our dependable Nufalese men, and hopefully our rys friends to be in position if Carfu rejects my offer."

21. Reports from the Wilderness

A swarm of mosquitoes assailed Rearden when he splashed across a creek. Scrambling up the bank, he pulled his hood close around his face. The foliage slapped him as he escaped the whining torment of the insects.

When Rearden emerged on higher ground, he looked back at the land he had covered since nightfall. The lights of Droxy twinkled like a puny tiara on the dark head of the Wilderness. He had left his post at the remote fort after learning of Carfu’s impending visit and traveled in secret to speak with the Governor.

Rearden pushed off his hood and scratched at the bug bites. Then, as he did countless times each day, he ran his hand over his shorn hair. Affecting the appearance of a Bosta had been necessary in order to blend in once he reached Droxy. He had hated cutting his typical Atrophaney long hair but that had not tested his resolve as much as hiking through the untamed forest to reach Droxy. In constant fear of fenthakrabi, Rearden had slept in the trees, and, wary of rebels, he had traveled by night.

Grubby as a logging slave, he had slipped into Droxy two nights ago with his Atrophane weapons concealed beneath a dirty cloak. Pretending to be a mute, he had toured the taverns and markets, gathering intelligence.

He had much to talk to Carfu about as long as Atrophane sentries did not kill him first. But he willingly risked assault by sentries in order to be among a segment of the military unpolluted by Dreibrand’s money.

Pulling his hood back up, he resumed his jog into the hills. People in Droxy had said that Carfu’s camp was supposed to be close.

>That censured outlaw cannot get rid of me so easily, Rearden thought, praising himself for finally taking action.

When Rearden emerged onto the empty road into the hills, he paused to look up and down it. Tree branches waved serenely in the night breeze, and Rearden saw no one in the blue light of a third quarter moon.

Staying under the deep shadows of the foliage, he trotted up the road toward where Carfu reportedly camped with two thousand soldiers. The hostile shout of challenge actually pleased Rearden when he heard it, but the click of a crossbow arming froze him in his tracks.

"I am a loyal Atrophane officer come to speak to the Lord Governor Carfu!" Rearden announced.

With the tone of someone not really interested in an explanation, the voice commanded, "Put your hands on your head and get down on your knees."

Rearden complied. Cautiously, four soldiers came down the road, moving in the shadows as Rearden had done. Two men held crossbows, ready to slay any potential ambushers. The third man had his sword out, and the fourth man opened the shutter of his lantern when they reached Rearden.

Excited to be so close to his goal, Rearden abandoned some of his caution. He brought down one hand and started to introduce himself.

"Do not move," hissed the soldier with his sword out, and he poked Rearden’s hand back into the proper position. His comrade held the lantern closer and frisked Rearden, quickly relieving him of his sword and dagger. He inspected the dagger that was unmistakably the style used by Atrophane officers. The insignia of Rearden’s family was indistinct in the lantern light.

Abruptly, the soldier yanked Rearden’s hood back.

"I am Lieutenant Rearden," he said.

"Shut up until we get off the road," the soldier said. "Come on."

Rearden got to his feet, ready to follow his surly escort. "I think you meant to say ‘Sir’ with that," he commented.

"Perhaps," the soldier admitted. "But I was warned of the strange things that come out of the Wilderness, and I do not know who you are."

The sentries hustled him to the camp and turned him over to a superior. The soldier who had frisked Rearden presented his sergeant with the weapons he had confiscated. When he was dismissed, Rearden said, "You can apologize to me later, soldier."

The soldier glanced back at him curiously and returned to his duty.

The sergeant inspected the dagger and quizzed Rearden about a few points of military procedure.

Judging from Rearden’s language usage and his knowledge, the sergeant entertained the possibility that Rearden was the officer he claimed to be.

"What happened to you, Sir?" the sergeant inquired.

"I have come from the Wilderness fort to speak with Governor Carfu about the renegade Dreibrand. He left me posted at that remote fort because he does not want me interfering with his plans. I had to disguise myself to get this far," Rearden explained.

"I will inform my commander," the sergeant decided.

After patiently explaining himself through two more links in the chain of command, Rearden reached the high lieutenant of the Governor’s expeditionary force, a man named Hepsat, who actually recognized him. They had met at a banquet in Phemnalang the year before.

"Wake Lord Carfu and Lady Jevenia," Lieutenant Hepsat ordered his squire after hearing Rearden’s reason for coming.

Rearden asked for a drink of water and Hepsat gladly got him some.

"What was the Wilderness like? I heard that the rys King used his magic against us," Hepsat said.

Rearden finished taking a big drink from the canteen and then splashed some water on his face. As he wiped the water away with his bare hand, Rearden marveled at the eager curiosity that he heard in the lieutenant’s voice. Rearden envied the man his relative innocence. Hepsat could not understand what had happened on that cold wet day in the north. Rearden was not sure that he understood either.

"The Wilderness was difficult," Rearden said tersely.

The squire came back quickly and announced that Rearden was summoned.

Hepsat escorted Rearden inside the circle of red and blue tents that sheltered the dignitaries. From the number of blue tents, Rearden judged that a full delegation of diplomats had come.

>Dreibrand gets everything, > Rearden thought bitterly.

Hepsat stopped outside the Governor’s tent and said, "Let us talk later."

Rearden grunted his acceptance of the invitation and rushed through the tent flaps. After his hasty entry, he went to his knees.

"My Lord Governor, I am acting Lieutenant Rearden. I bring you news of Dreibrand Veta," he said. Then, noting the presence of who he presumed was the Lady Jevenia, Rearden added, "My Lady."

She was lighting a third lamp, and the warm glow gave her straight brown hair a coppery sheen. Her youthful beauty was very eye-catching to Rearden after months without the company of women.

Carfu and Jevenia wore glossy silk robes over their nightclothes. The Governor’s robe was black with the white emblem of the Empire on the lapels. Jevenia’s robe was white, and horses and chariots were woven into the silk with silver thread that sparkled like dew.

Rearden was slightly embarrassed to have caught them in such an intimate setting, but the high-ranking nobles welcomed him eagerly.

"Come sit with us, Lieutenant Rearden," Carfu invited. His thinning blonde hair was loose and descended past his high cheekbones. The wavy line where the hair was usually secured in a ponytail accentuated his casual state.

As Jevenia moved close to Carfu, she ushered Rearden closer. "Be at ease. We are all nobles here. You are kin of Clan Abundo, correct?" she said. Rearden replied that he was, on his mother’s side. "We are pleased that you have come to speak to us," she said.

Rearden made himself comfortable and apologized for his appearance.

"What prompts you to come to us in such a state?" Carfu asked.

"I came in secret from the Wilderness fort where Dreibrand left me to rot in uselessness," Rearden said. "He does not want me to see you."

"And why is that?" Jevenia asked with sharp interest. Her sea blue eyes hungered for information.

"Because, unlike the others, I refuse to serve him happily," Rearden said.

"So, the others are loyal to him," Carfu said. He clearly accepted the possibility.

"They are confused. And he bribes them all," Rearden explained.

"Back up, if you will, Lieutenant," Jevenia commanded. "I have come here as a representative of Clan Promentro. I am Sandin’s cousin, and I am a member of the Darmar’s diplomatic corps. Speak to me of the Darhet’s demise. Commander Fanlyre has insisted to the Governor that it was a legitimate duel between nobles."

Rearden scoffed, "Fanlyre! He is the biggest traitor since the Vetas. He made a truce with Dreibrand on the battlefield without the Darhet’s permission, and then he stood at Dreibrand’s side when he issued his challenge."

The revelation appalled Jevenia, who exclaimed with disgust. A quiet wrath crept across Carfu’s normally relaxed features. Cevlead Fanlyre had looked him in the eye and twisted the truth about Sandin’s death.

Rearden recounted his story with righteous anger until he confessed that he had urged acceptance of Dreibrand’s call to parley. Frightened and exhausted, Rearden had jumped at any chance for an easy solution. Then, Rearden explained what King Shan had done to them. The dead were in gruesome heaps. Terror had hammered his nerves. Rearden wiped the perspiration from his forehead after describing the scene.

Collecting himself, Rearden continued, "But the duel was violated. Dreibrand’s brother interfered. At least the Darhet killed him for that, but it gave Dreibrand the chance to win. Then, with the Darhet dead, and the soldiers, even the officers, reeling from the disasters that had befallen us, we followed him. By the Gods, I regret that I did not have the courage to strike at him then."

"And why not?" Jevenia demanded.

Carfu answered for the younger officer, "Because crossing Dreibrand is not a choice made lightly."

The knowing statement validated Rearden’s months of agonizing inaction, but he wanted to state his reasons to Jevenia. "Dreibrand was always well-guarded. He has several hundred of his own warriors who came with him from the Wilderness. Barbarians and escaped slaves mostly. And he has rys with him as well, and they support him as a matter of friendship."

Carfu nodded. "Yes, we have been informed that several rys act as his bodyguards," he said.

"And nearly two hundred more prowl the forests," Rearden reported. "Dreibrand has moved all of his foreign warriors out of town. They mix with the rebels. I heard it spoken of while I was in town. Dreibrand plots with Metchlan, the rebel leader."

"We have heard about his methods for bringing peace to this territory," Jevenia grumbled.

Relieved to be among people with whom he could vent his anti-Veta opinions, Rearden continued, "Dreibrand used his rys to take many rebels prisoner, and then he let them all go so he could win the trust of the criminal Metchlan. Those swine murdered many Atrophane, and Dreibrand let them go to buy peace."

Carfu raised a hand to calm the rising emotions of the officer. "Your anger is well placed, Lieutenant. But tell me. Do you know what Dreibrand intends to do?"

Rearden admitted that he was not privy to Dreibrand’s plans but said, "If he makes Metchlan his ally, you dare not trust him."

"I have heard enough," Jevenia announced. "Carfu, let us attack. Surely, our soldiers in the town will not stand against us. Bring me the head of this traitor so that my Clan may have satisfaction."

"Beware the diplomat’s call to war," Carfu murmured.

"It is warranted," Jevenia insisted.

Carfu tried to quell her bloodlust even if he found it exciting. "I will not make a decision in haste to attack an Atrophaney military base, my Lady," he said firmly.

"This censured renegade conspires with rebels against us. We must act," Jevenia said. The news that her cousin’s duel had been violated upset her deeply. Clan Promentro had lost its greatest man, and its prestige would be next if Dreibrand were allowed to benefit from his crimes.

Carfu considered her demand for immediate military action but deemed it premature.

"My Lady, Dreibrand and I served together, and I observed that he was always very popular with the men-at-arms," Carfu said. "We must not underestimate his military strength. Let us talk to him as has been arranged. The worst that can happen is that we will learn what he wants."

Employing a tone laced with feminine persuasion, Jevenia countered, "Lord Governor, why risk yourself? With what we have heard tonight, we have cause to attack. Meeting with Dreibrand is dangerous. He has already purposefully removed the Darhet. Who is to say that you would not be next?"

Carfu accepted the dangerous potential of Dreibrand’s ambition, but he had not traveled the length of the western Empire to cancel his meeting.  

Carfu decided, "I do not fear to meet with Dreibrand Veta. I have come to hear what he has to say. Precautions are in place, and I judge that he will not dare to assault a diplomatic delegation. It is not his style. Do you not see that he craves acceptance? Why else would he ask to make a treaty with the Empire after years of exile?"

"To kill us. To take us hostage," Jevenia responded.

Unmoved by her dramatics, Carfu mentioned that Dreibrand had already seized one territory and they might do well to talk to him before he was forced to take another piece of the Empire to get their attention. "I shall not fail to defend us if Dreibrand resumes his hostility. But do remember that our purpose is to control him, not set what remains of the imperial army against itself," he concluded.

Frustrated by uncomfortable realities, Jevenia frowned.

Rearden understood too well the dynamics with which they were wrangling, but he remained encouraged by his new environment.

Rapidly scheming, he said, "If I may, my Lord, my Lady, I do not see a great risk in at least beginning the negotiation. I know that Dreibrand very much wants to speak with imperial representatives. He spoke much of the peace treaty that he desires between the Empire and Nufal, and he cannot hope to attain that without talking to the diplomats. So, I propose this: talk to him, lull him, make him think that his enlightened negotiation is working. He will like that. It will give us more time to find a way to punish him. I will need you to slip me into the military complex without Dreibrand noticing."

Jevenia and Carfu exchanged looks as if exasperated by the subject. Even after many trips by many messengers, they had not been able to get Dreibrand to relent on certain details about the setup of the negotiation.

She said, "We have not been able to arrange with Dreibrand to allow this force to even enter Droxy."

"What? How dare he?" Rearden complained.

Conspicuously lacking Jevenia’s impatience with the situation, Carfu said, "Dreibrand claims that it would be imprudent to allow more soldiers into Droxy because it would unsettle the population, which has only just recovered from a state of open rebellion."

"Oh, I see," Rearden said. "He can have as many soldiers around him as he can put his hands on, but you cannot enter town with yours."

"It is logical," Carfu said. Unlike the flustered diplomats, he had expected no less from Dreibrand.

"It is intolerable," Jevenia declared, happy to have a reason to re-open the matter.

"Patience, my Lady Diplomat. Even a brutish military man such as myself can be patient," Carfu said with a teasing smile. "Dreibrand has granted my lieutenant permission to inspect the base in exchange for our allowing him to come to the negotiation with his cadre of rys bodyguards. We will gain better bargains as Dreibrand reveals more of his needs to us."

"So, my Lord, you do have access to the base," Rearden noted. "Then get me in that complex. I will disguise myself as a soldier in Hepsat’s entourage."

"It seems all officers are spies these days," Carfu grumbled, alluding to Cevlead’s performance in Phemnalang.

"What do you intend to do in the base, Lieutenant?" Jevenia asked.

Rearden answered, "Dreibrand took an enchanted crystal from Sandin that was given to him by the tabre. It is a very powerful charm that gives almost complete protection from rys magic. If I could get it, then I would have a chance at waylaying Dreibrand. With that charm, not even his rys bodyguards would detect my presence and their spells could not hurt me."

"You would ambush Dreibrand and his rys guards all by yourself?" Carfu said, a little shocked by the officer’s audacity, especially after Rearden had followed Dreibrand across the Wilderness without daring to attack him.

"I would need to gather a small squad of men to help me," Rearden explained. He dug inside his shirt and brought out a pouch. "I have the warding crystal that the tabre gave me, and I collected more from men at the fort. They did not want to give them up, of course, but I ordered them to do so. These warding crystals offer some protection from rys spells."

Carfu said, "I have been told that humans cannot defy rys in battle. You yourself recounted the defeat that King Shan inflicted on us."

"That was the rys King," Rearden said dramatically. He would never consider placing himself against the magic of the formidable rys leader again. "But the other rys are not so powerful. The tabre taught us to fight them." Rearden proffered his bag of warding crystals. Jevenia accepted it eagerly. "These charms do help. I battled rys myself. Even killed a few. And with the bracelet that belonged to the Darhet, I know I can take on a small group of rys soldiers."

Jevenia poured the crystal orbs out of the bag. She and Carfu picked through the gently glowing pile. They murmured to each other, quietly captivated by the white light that shifted sleepily inside each translucent orb.

Tearing his attention away from the warding crystals, Carfu said, "Lieutenant, what makes you think that Dreibrand does not have this bracelet on his person?"

Rearden shook his head confidently. "He did not wear it. Dreibrand has his own charm on his sword from the rys King. But I did see Dreibrand take the bracelet from—forgive me, my Lady—from Lord Sandin’s body, but I never saw Dreibrand handle it after that day. He must have packed it away with his personal possessions. It is reasonable to expect the bracelet to be in his quarters. I must have a chance to look. If I can get it, I just might be able to ambush Dreibrand. If I cannot find it, there was no harm in seeking this advantage."

"Where would you ambush him?" Carfu asked.

Rearden said that he would not want to attempt it inside the military complex because too many soldiers were around. He asked for assistance from the Governor and Lady Jevenia. "Can you arrange for Dreibrand to be outside the military base? The cover of darkness for my ambush would be good as well."

"We already have," Carfu said. To satisfy the fears of attack that concerned all parties at the negotiation, everyone had agreed to meet with minimal entourages apart from military forces. A prominent hilltop outside of Droxy had satisfied everyone as an open public area where they could safely conduct the negotiation. Carfu added that Sir Eddleket had explained that Dreibrand’s insistence on his rys companions was surely meant to protect him from sneak attack when he was outside of town.

"See how he relies on those creatures?" Rearden said. "This is precisely why I must look for the Darhet’s charm."

Definitely warming to Rearden’s proposal, Carfu suggested, "Perhaps you can arrange an ambush when Dreibrand leaves the meeting and returns to Droxy."

"Can you keep them until it is dark?" Rearden asked.

"Perhaps. You must understand that negotiations are sometimes unpredictable. However, no matter what happens, the proceedings are likely to last several days. You will have a chance eventually, provided you get that charm," Carfu said.

Rearden nodded and asked permission to begin planning with Lieutenant Hepsat.

"I must consider precisely what your plan will be, Lieutenant, before I grant my approval," Carfu said.

"Of course, Lord Governor," Rearden said.

With a very troubled look upon his face, Carfu said, "Then I expect that you mean to take Dreibrand prisoner."

"Prisoner?" Jevenia scoffed. "I think the lieutenant means to do more than that." She looked at Rearden suggestively.

Encouraged by her desire for violence, Rearden said, "It is in my mind to kill him."

Carfu shifted his eyes toward a dark corner of the tent. His need to avenge Sandin conflicted with the societal duties of his rank. Although enticed by the willingness of Rearden to act, Carfu refused to let himself be provoked to criminal malice.

Taking a deep breath, Carfu looked at Rearden while bracing himself against Jevenia’s gaze. "Only the Darmar has the authority to order the death of a noble," he said.

The reminder about the important law sobered Rearden, but Jevenia quickly rebutted the statement. "But Dreibrand killed Sandin in a violated duel. His punishment is clear," she argued.

Although frustrated by the legal constraints that betrayed his long friendship with Sandin, Carfu awkwardly explained, "Sandin accepted the challenge. Even Rearden confirms that Sandin willingly entered the combat. What we are discussing here is assassination. That is a censurable offense. Dreibrand’s whole family is proof of that, and I will not give such an order."

Deeply frustrated by Carfu’s noble adherence to the law, Jevenia snarled, "Then let me give the order. Clan Promentro does not fear to do what is necessary."

Carfu quickly asked his riled companion to reconsider. "My Lady, would not Clan Promentro be pleased to possess this criminal? Let us have him taken prisoner, and then you can present him to imperial justice. The honor of Clan Promentro will be restored. Let your observance of the law act as a foil to Veta’s disregard for society."

Jevenia’s shoulders slumped with disappointment as she looked past her passion. Carfu argued well, and she imagined that her distinguished cousin, the Darhet, would have enjoyed the public trial and execution of Dreibrand Veta. "My Clan would be satisfied to take custody of this Veta rogue," she conceded.

"Then, Lieutenant Rearden, you have my permission to attempt your plan and to take Dreibrand prisoner," Carfu decided.

Rearden bowed and thanked the Lord Governor.

"Discuss your plans with Lieutenant Hepsat and snatch some rest," Carfu instructed. "I am moving my troops into the valley tomorrow, and we shall attempt our first contact with Dreibrand at noon."

Rearden collected his warding crystals and exited the tent. Great relief soothed his mind. He had no shame for his plot against Dreibrand. His only regret was that he had waited so long to counter the unjust advances of the usurper.

After the departure of the officer-turned-spy, Carfu reclined onto his pillows. The possibility of taking Dreibrand prisoner appealed to Carfu immensely. If he could actually get so lucky as to seize Dreibrand, then Carfu could forget the negotiation, discard the distasteful option of attacking his own military base, and rush out of the territory with his problem solved.

Jevenia stared thoughtfully at the nearest lamp. The citrine stones set in the brass lamp reflected orange light that glistened invitingly on her lips.

Carfu reached for her hand, but she snatched it away. Turning to the Governor, she said, "I assume you withhold an attack because you fear to fight this Dreibrand."

Although stung by her disrespect, Carfu easily defended himself. "Will it not suffice to grab him the night? Why start a dangerous confrontation when I have the chance to make him a prisoner."

"Oh, this plot is weak," Jevenia said, rolling her eyes.

"It might work," Carfu said. He shifted onto his knees and tried to gather Jevenia into his arms. She squirmed away, but he managed to nuzzle closer. "Dreibrand in chains will please you, I am sure. You can take him back to Atrophane and complete the disgrace of his House. Finish the Vetas."

Jevenia was able to smile at the thought. She would hope for Rearden to succeed, but she obviously needed to apply fresh encouragement to Carfu’s aggression. Tonight she had observed that his promises to be tough with Dreibrand Veta had less meaning now that they were in the Bosta Territory.

Carfu hugged his diplomatic companion tighter, but she turned her lips away. "My Lord Governor will excuse me," she said. "I shall return to my tent."

"As my Lady wishes," Carfu said, releasing her.

Jevenia stood up and informed him that she would have time for him again when Dreibrand was in custody. "Until then I shall have to endure the tedium of a negotiation that I have no intention of honoring," she stated.

"May the Gods of Ektren forgive me for boring you," Carfu said. "But please, put on a good act. Our time spent in conversation with Dreibrand can reveal to us many things. As our loyal Rearden indicated, we are lacking information."

Although Jevenia agreed with the point, she chose to irritate Carfu. "I still say you fear Dreibrand Veta."

Unwilling to be goaded by her, Carfu said coldly, "Jevenia, you should fear him too. Dreibrand was the only man who ever rivaled Sandin. He was a great warrior, and if not for the censure, he might have easily surpassed your cousin."

"How dare you?" Jevenia demanded.

"It is the truth. Just because I do not like it, does not mean that I will ignore it. And since you have temporarily decided to stop liking me, I might as well be plain with you, my Lady. I will make the decisions concerning Dreibrand. I know him. You do not," Carfu insisted.

Jevenia huffed out of the Governor’s tent, but he was unconcerned by her little fit. Carfu lay awake until dawn considering his appointment with Dreibrand.

22. A Treaty Beckons

Astar stamped with eagerness, and Dreibrand shared in the impatience of his vigorous black colt. He reached for the banner of his House, but before the foot soldier could deliver it into his hand, Cevlead intervened.

"Allow me, Dreibrand," Cevlead said and extended his hand toward the flag.

The offer pleasantly surprised Dreibrand, and he nodded. Having a member of another noble family carry his banner to the negotiation would validate his House on this crucial day.

Cevlead hefted the black stallion galloping across a green field into the bright morning sun. His generous act cemented his bond to Dreibrand.

Eager to begin his business, Dreibrand commanded that the gates of the military complex be opened. He rode out with Cevlead, Dey, and eight rys soldiers. They passed outside the walls of stone and timber, and Dreibrand was surprised by the enthusiasm of the Bostas who had gathered to watch his departure. Some people even cheered because Dreibrand, although perhaps an imperfect solution to Bosta problems, at least represented a shift of power in the western region. The public works that Kashil had swiftly organized had enhanced Dreibrand’s popularity as well. Metchlan’s story about pressuring the Empire into negotiation did not lessen the credit Dreibrand received for the money pouring from his coffers. Kashil’s spending of imperial coins had already created a small network of Bostas very grateful to Dreibrand. While staying mindful of swindlers, Kashil had fed the hungry, begun rebuilding homes, and discreetly financed the trips of people who wanted to venture into the Empire and seek relatives sold into slavery.

Although proud of fostering goodwill in the territory, Dreibrand knew that the progress would collapse quickly if he did not gain the treaty that he wanted from Carfu. The hilltop studded with a few stately oaks where he intended to reshape the future loomed beyond the drab shantytown.

Dreibrand emerged from the town and left behind its odors of cooking fires and dirty water. The rolling green land, fresh with the full bloom of spring, ushered him toward the meeting ground. Dreibrand looked forward to revealing the truth of his dreams to the Empire with the landscape of the Wilderness at his back.

The open fields and pastures that surrounded the town allowed a clear view of the hill from every direction, which allowed all parties to determine the safety of the area before approaching. Along the road, the openness was broken by only one mature oak that perhaps had been spared during the clear-cut to provide shade for the loggers.

Bostas filled the road all the way to the base of the hill. They had come out to show support for Metchlan, who already occupied the hill with several men and Faychan.

Metchlan came down to greet Dreibrand. Nearby people shouted praise for Metchlan, who acknowledged them with a regal wave.

He likes the public attention, Dreibrand thought with satisfaction.

"Welcome, Lord Dreibrand. May your Gods smile upon you today," Metchlan declared as if he had arranged the negotiation.

Without pausing, Dreibrand continued up the hill. He had no intention of letting Metchlan act the host for the benefit of his Bosta audience. Visibly annoyed, Metchlan turned around and followed Dreibrand.

"Get these people back by the town," Dreibrand ordered without bothering to offer a greeting.

"They have come to show the Empire who they support," Metchlan said.

"They have done it. Now get them back. The diplomats are never going to come near this hill if you have a few hundred locals gawking," Dreibrand complained. When Metchlan started to protest, Dreibrand said, "I know you have fighters all through that crowd. Now stick to the deal. If anyone’s whims will be indulged today, mine will."

"And good morning to you," Metchlan grumbled. He ordered his companions to begin moving the crowd back to the Droxy limits.

Unconcerned by Metchlan’s bruised feelings, Dreibrand sought Faychan whose report he required. Since Metchlan’s release, Faychan had been outside of town coordinating the Nufalese warriors and advising Metchlan and his fighters. When Dreibrand dismounted, he shook hands happily with his western friend.

"How well watched is our position?" Dreibrand inquired.

Without using any hand gestures, Faychan indicated various locations with his eyes. He explained that he had positioned many former Kezanada in camouflaged areas and that rys soldiers monitored Carfu’s encampment of troops. They would be able to provide adequate warning if Carfu advanced in force on the hill.

"And Metchlan’s men work in conjunction with ours," Faychan added with a curious hint of satisfaction.

Dreibrand praised him for arranging the many levels of unseen security.

Faychan dipped his head graciously and continued, "I am told by the Bosta scouts that at least half of the soldiers who serve Carfu are provincial mercenaries and conscripts from Ciniva and Revena, which is interesting."

Dreibrand considered the information. Apparently the ranks of Atrophane-born soldiers had been thinned after Sandin skimmed the cream of the military according to his prejudices. The amount of mercenaries and conscripts in Carfu’s force indicated that he had not had a surplus of soldiers to draw from throughout the western Empire. Dreibrand did not quite construe this as a weakness for Carfu, but it potentially granted Dreibrand an advantage.

Dreibrand asked if any Atrophane representatives had introduced themselves yet.

This time Faychan pointed eastward. "He appeared about an hour ago," he said.

A rider with a banner was just visible where the fields met the forested hills. Dreibrand took out his spyglass for a better look. "It is Carfu’s banner, Clan Anglair," he determined. "Cevlead, can you place my banner over that way more, please." Dreibrand gestured to a spot that offered Carfu’s distant flagbearer an unobstructed view.

Cevlead stuck the metal mounting bracket for the pole into the turf and mounted the banner. The simple act transfixed Dreibrand with its significance.

Let them all see how I defy my censure, Dreibrand thought.

With Dreibrand in place on the meeting ground, Parlim emerged from the town with a squad of soldiers. It had been arranged that he would escort the diplomats closer, and then a smaller group of officers and soldiers would return with Parlim to the military complex for the inspection.

The traffic on the road jammed when Parlim and his soldiers met the crowd that was being urged back to the town limits. Dreibrand imagined Parlim’s nervousness as he cut across the group of locals who generally regarded the lieutenant as the clerk of their oppressors.

Parlim survived the encounter without incident and headed into the hills to retrieve his distinguished guests.

Observing the riders from the hilltop, Metchlan complained, "This is taking forever."

"I agree," Dreibrand said. "But let us put this time to good use. Because you have not visited me, we should chat about our strategy."

"I trust that you have not altered your plans," Metchlan said.

"You honor me with your trust," Dreibrand said.

"Talking like a diplomat already," Cevlead observed nervously. He took another deep breath and firmed his resolve not to squirm in front of Carfu, who would have figured out his true loyalties by now. 

"It is good to practice," Dreibrand remarked.

Metchlan said, "And I hope that you have been practicing your grand speech that will make us both governors of happy western provinces."

"Indeed, I have," Dreibrand said. "But I want you to know that I will not immediately state my true offer. Let us come to it through negotiation. We, of course, want to hear what offer the Empire brings."

"I can handle the big boy table," Metchlan muttered.

"I ready too," Faychan announced in the Atrophaney language. "I practice for when talk get tough."

"You have gotten better," Dreibrand commented, very pleased that Faychan would be able to monitor the conversation.

"I get books in town," Faychan said.

"He even cut back on his drinking to study," Metchlan said.

I have been sober much more often than you think , Faychan thought, recalling a dozen little ruses while in the camp of the rebel leader.

Dey announced that the Atrophane were moving, and very soon afterward, the delegation appeared on the road. Behind Parlim and his honor guard, two noble riders attended by flagbearers advanced with two canopied wagons drawn by well-matched teams of black horses with white faces and stockings.

"Clan Promentro," Cevlead hissed when he recognized the banner with an eagle and sunburst that he had seen enough of for his lifetime.

"I see it. This was to be expected," Dreibrand said. Using his spyglass, he inspected the female rider associated with the banner. "I do not know who she is," he said and handed the spyglass to Cevlead.

Cevlead did not know her either.

"Carfu," Dreibrand whispered when he spotted his old comrade. He pointed him out to Metchlan and Faychan.

When the delegation reached the hill, the female rider broke off with her flagbearer and ascended the slope. Carfu remained below on the road. Dreibrand had expected that the Governor would not deign to come forward first.

With the proceedings about to be opened by a representative of Clan Promentro, Dreibrand quietly warned his associates that this part might not be overly polite.

"I will handle her," he said and moved forward.

The woman was young but wore the blue and white uniform of a ranking member of the diplomatic corps. Silver broaches held her blue cloak at each shoulder and silver pendants on her white silk jacket glinted in the sun. Loops of braided hair descended from beneath her elaborate headdress where a large sapphire was mounted just above her severely parted dark hair. Spirals of tiny seashells and opals surrounded the jewel on her headdress. Promentro wealth and influence brought success and seniority quickly to its next generation.

She flaunted her disdain for Dreibrand’s banner when she rode past it, but her haughtiness faltered when she took her first look at rys. She stared at them like a shy and uncertain girl at her first day of school. Their black eyes offered no hint of their thoughts, and the rys regarded her like nine judges come to test her worth.

Her horse balked when she came closer to the unknown creatures. Dreibrand politely reached for the bridle in order to assist her, but his action infuriated her, and she overcame her shock and yanked her horse away from his control. Her aquamarine eyes locked onto Dreibrand, knowing that he was the slayer of her Clan’s greatest lord. She had been told that Dreibrand did not wear the uniform of the army over which he claimed to have authority. In his foreign armor and rough clothes, he looked like a mercenary.

An outlaw, she fumed.

"You are Dreibrand Veta," she stated.

Dreibrand nodded once, pleased by his infamy. "And may I know your name?"

"I am the Lady Jevenia of Clan Promentro. I serve the Darmar as a member of the diplomatic corps," she said.

"Greetings, Lady Jevenia. I would like to introduce my associates," Dreibrand said.

She swept her gaze over the other men as if they were a pack of condemned criminals. After Dreibrand introduced them, she did not offer one word of acknowledgement. With his attempt at cordiality out of the way, Dreibrand gladly switched to assaulting her attitude.

"Lady Jevenia, your manners do not indicate any sign of diplomatic training," he scolded.

"I would not waste it on the likes of you," she snapped.

"Then what message do you bring?" Dreibrand demanded sharply. "I was told that the Empire had accepted my invitation to engage in diplomatic discussion."

"Indeed, some elements have agreed to such a thing. But I have come to make clear the opinion of Clan Promentro," Jevenia explained. "We condemn you for the murder of the Darhet."

Dreibrand responded in a condescending tone. "Murder? Lady Jevenia, it seems that you have no proper concept of military accountability. Sandin Promentro led five thousand men to their deaths in the Wilderness after ignoring King Shan’s wish that no army approach the Rysamand. As an Atrophane noble, it was my duty to stop the killing. Only King Shan would heed my call for mercy once his anger was aroused. Even though Sandin violated my territory, I could not endure the massacre of so many Atrophane soldiers. I suggest you understand the facts before you accuse me of a crime. The Darhet failed as a military leader. I corrected him."

"How dare you claim to be of the same class as Sandin Promentro?" Jevenia said.

"Because I am," Dreibrand said.

"You are censured," she snarled.

"The censure is over!" Dreibrand declared. He pointed down the hill at the other diplomats. "They are just here to work out the details. Now, if you have nothing productive to contribute to this negotiation, I suggest you keep quiet before I decide that I am too powerful to waste my time in conversation. The Empire will give me what I want one way or another."

"Do not presume that the soldiers will continue to obey you," Jevenia said, but Dreibrand saw in her eyes that she acknowledged his threat.

"I have already proved my worthiness to be Lord General to the Atrophane soldiers in this territory. I can prove it again," Dreibrand said with brutal certainty.

"Your worthiness will be judged by higher minds than soldiers," Jevenia said. She pulled her horse around and galloped back to the road with her flagbearer.

"That was terrible," Cevlead complained when Dreibrand faced his allies again.

"I am wasting my time with you," Metchlan said.

The hostility of the Lady Jevenia troubled Dreibrand the least. He said, "Do not be discouraged by her. That was an expression of official displeasure from her Clan. It had to be done. I do not think any of them are ready to forsake negotiation. Her anger does not change the fact that several thousand Atrophane soldiers in this territory have accepted my leadership for six months. Carfu will not lose sight of that."

Dreibrand looked over his shoulder and saw that the Governor had dismounted and was walking up the hill with his diplomatic entourage. Over the heads of the delegates, the banners of Clans Anglair and Promentro rippled in the breeze and crowded the black and white banner of the Atrophane Empire. Although Carfu occupied a civilian seat of power, he was wearing his blue military uniform and armor. The cheek guards of his helmet highlighted for Dreibrand his familiar pair of eyes. Confronted by his old military comrade, Dreibrand instantly returned to the last moment when they had been together. Carfu had witnessed Dreibrand’s humiliating argument with Lord Kwan and Sandin before he deserted for the Wilderness.

Carfu, however, gave his complete attention to the magical beings he had heard so much about. The new experience of seeing rys overpowered his old memories of Dreibrand. Although the rys were lovely creatures, Carfu’s instincts quivered with warning. He felt no automatic sense of human superiority as when humans looked upon other creatures of the world. 

Finally, the Governor met Dreibrand’s eyes. They measured the years that had been recorded on their faces. As they studied each other, Dreibrand’s serious face did not betray his discomfort with Carfu’s knowledge of his past.

"Dreibrand Veta, it has been a long time," Carfu said.

"Yes. I did not expect our paths to cross again, Carfu Anglair," Dreibrand said.

"You always wanted the Wilderness," Carfu recalled.

"And now I have it," Dreibrand stated bluntly.

Carfu refrained from commenting. In his memory, he heard Sandin speaking about claiming the Wilderness for the Empire. Seeing so plainly the failure of his friend hurt him.

But Carfu was a disciplined man, unwilling to hastily act upon his hostility.

"Dreibrand, I have come to discuss the treaty you request," he said. "But first, I must reiterate my need to move my camp closer to town before we commence with any serious discussions. And, of course, Lieutenant Hepsat needs to conduct his tour of the military base."

Dreibrand responded, "Although your civility and patience are appreciated, Carfu, my judgment that the Bostas have only just accepted the existing military presence has not changed. If you had not come with so many soldiers—"

Carfu interrupted him, "Am I to camp in the forest like a refugee?"

"We have already agreed to the placement of our forces," Dreibrand reminded pleasantly as if only amused by Carfu’s attempt to revisit the subject. "If you like, you may pasture your horses in the commons closer to town."

Carfu did not bother to thank Dreibrand for the gesture that would separate his cavalrymen from their mounts. It was enough for the moment to know that his troops did intimidate Dreibrand. "I will send Hepsat to begin the inspection," he said.

Dreibrand said, "I have decided that Lieutenant Hepsat will conduct his inspection tomorrow. We can meet here again in the morning."

Carfu demanded the reason for the delay.

Smugly, Dreibrand provided a quick reply. "Because the diplomat you sent to make the initial greeting was so horribly rude that I must take another day to reassure my Bosta ally that you are serious about this negotiation," Dreibrand gestured to Metchlan and introduced him.

Metchlan gladly contributed to the perception that he needed to be placated. "The Atrophane must learn that the Bostas need respect," he said.

"Outrageous," Jevenia said, but Carfu ignored her. He had advised Jevenia against her flagrant display of dislike for Dreibrand, even if he had agreed that it was justified.

Carfu leaned close to Sir Eddleket who was at his left elbow. They conferred quietly about the delay. Eddleket expected that such a hostile opening to a formal negotiation would elicit some sort of reprisal. He was accustomed to preliminary diplomatic sparring and saw no harm in tolerating Dreibrand’s delay. Carfu decided he would use the time to move his camp farther into the valley without Dreibrand’s leave to do so.

Give him something to think about, Carfu grumbled mentally.

"We shall meet you on this hill tomorrow morning," Carfu announced. "Then we will get to business while Lieutenant Hepsat conducts his inspection." The Governor then faced Metchlan and gave him his word that he came to the Bosta Territory only with the intention of conducting an honest negotiation.

The direct acknowledgement from the Governor of Phemnalang actually gratified Metchlan after years of raids and skirmishes with imperial minions. He looked forward to making his demands.

"As long as our conversation is productive, I promise that the Bostas will let you visit in peace," Metchlan said.

Carfu doubted that he and the rebel leader shared the same definition for productive. Not overly concerned about it though, Carfu suspected that the Bosta leader was only a pawn in Dreibrand’s game anyway.

The last play in this game will be mine, Carfu thought. He raised his right hand and signaled for his group to depart.

"I look forward to our conversation tomorrow," Carfu said to Dreibrand.

"We have much to discuss," Dreibrand said.

Carfu shot Cevlead a disappointed look before leaving. Carfu was still undecided about what to do with Clan Fanlyre’s errant son.

Once the imperial representatives were far enough away not to hear, Metchlan said, "That’s it? We do nothing else today?"

"It would have made us look weak if we stayed to talk after the way that woman acted toward us," Dreibrand explained.

"Well, I did like putting them off," Metchlan admitted.

Faychan cleared his throat. "Dreibrand, must you allow this inspection?" he inquired in the western language. Faychan had made clear his dislike for this detail before, and he still hoped to get Dreibrand to change his mind.

Dreibrand defended the concession because it granted Carfu a morsel of access but more importantly it would ease the contentious atmosphere between his Atrophane force and the troops that came with Carfu.

Faychan remained uncertain if Dreibrand’s new hobby of peacemaking best served their situation. Prepping the soldiers’ expectations for conflict might be more prudent.

Dreibrand acknowledged the point but explained that he had needed to give something in order to keep his rys honor guard, which was the crux of his personal security while he attended the negotiations. And allowing the inspection illustrated his alignment with imperial authority, and it was important that Parlim and the local Atrophane troops continue to see him as legitimate.

"It is just an inspection. Only a small amount of men will be allowed to accompany this Hepsat fellow. It will be all right," Dreibrand said.

Faychan rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Although Dreibrand’s reasons did not entirely convince him, he had to grant that Dreibrand had succeeded so far in controlling the Atrophane military. Ultimately, their mutual success stemmed from Dreibrand’s expertise in dealing with his people, and Faychan curtailed his criticism.

As Metchlan watched the Governor of Phemnalang depart with his well-decorated diplomats, he said, "Lord Dreibrand, you know this Carfu. What am I to make of his word to negotiate with me honestly?"

The fact that Carfu had not mentioned Sandin heartened Dreibrand, and he said with confidence, "Carfu likes things easy. We will get a good deal out of him."

Although conspicuously lacking enthusiasm for the prediction, Metchlan said, "I am here to get a good deal."

"Just keep this territory quiet and I will get it for you," Dreibrand said. He believed that he had sufficient troops to keep Carfu from doing anything rash, and the possibility that he was only days away from a peace treaty excited Dreibrand tremendously. The sooner he could create success, the sooner he could go home. 

23. A Day of Demands

Even knowing that Shan is going to help Dreibrand does not make the days pass quicker. I notice when the boys pause in their play and quietly watch the empty prairie. I want to believe that sometimes Dreibrand looks back and thinks of us. – Miranda, diary entry from 20th day of Planting, Year 6 Nufalese calendar.

 

Rearden was actually grateful for the delayed inspection. He needed the extra day of rest after his grueling hike, and assembling volunteers for the ambush had taken time. Because of the stories that the soldiers had heard, they were reluctant to act against rys. Rearden, however, bolstered them with his accounts of fighting rys soldiers, and he coaxed one dozen daring men into placing their faith in the warding crystals and joining him.

Until Rearden actually confronted Dreibrand and the rys guards, his greatest fear was that Dreibrand would see him with Lieutenant Hepsat, but Dreibrand proved sufficiently distracted by the negotiations. Only Lieutenant Parlim showed up at Carfu’s camp to escort Hepsat to the military base, and Rearden and Parlim were not acquainted. As part of the Darhet’s ill-fated war host, Rearden had gone directly to the Wilderness and hardly paused at Droxy.

Falling into step with Hepsat’s honor guard, Rearden boldly trusted that his plain uniform and armor of a foot soldier would conceal him from the men stationed in Droxy who had been on the Wilderness campaign.

As he marched into Droxy, Rearden looked for a good spot to launch his ambush. The main road into to Droxy from the east presented itself as the best option as long as Dreibrand chose to take the direct route back into the town.

He will use this road. Just get that bracelet, Rearden told himself and focused on his first important task.

When Hepsat began his inspection at the military complex, the scene took on an unexpected air of normalcy. The officers discussed mundane military matters such as supplies, rebels, and morale.

Hepsat and his entourage followed Parlim into the main building. Rearden kept his eyes down as they passed between the guards posted at the entrance. He and the other soldiers filled the central hallway, and Rearden made sure that he was last in line. Because Carfu had overseen the design and construction of the military complex, he had been able to suggest to Rearden the likeliest areas where Dreibrand would be quartered.

Rearden ducked down a hall of guestrooms. Hepsat’s voice trailed away as he asked Parlim numerous distracting questions, and Rearden prowled toward the nearest door. He opened the first room and discovered that it was unfurnished and clearly unoccupied.

When he slipped into the next room, he startled a maid changing the bed linens. She cried out and looked at the intruding soldier with wide eyes. Guilt flashed briefly across Rearden’s face before he recovered himself.

"Whose room is this?" he demanded.

"The Lord General’s. What do you want?" the maid said with a thick Bosta accent. She was clearly more worried about the soldier who appeared to be stalking her instead of any security threat to Dreibrand’s room.

Rearden then noted the spear tips visible through the unshuttered windows. Two soldiers guarded the windows from the outside.

"Oh, my mistake. I was just looking for Lieutenant Parlim," Rearden said and left the room. As he exited, he noted the simple bolt lock on the door that could only be operated from the inside, which meant that the maid would have no way to lock the suite.

He hid in the empty room until the maid left, which seemed to take an unbearable amount of time. Rearden had seen the saddlebags hanging over the foot of the bed, and his heart thudded with impatient desire.

When the maid’s footsteps diminished down the hall, Rearden acted. He entered Dreibrand’s room quietly. Fortuitous to his purpose, the maid had shuttered the windows when she left. Rearden could hear the guards chatting outside, but unless he made a loud noise, they would not detect him.

 Rearden rushed to the saddlebags, and the bracelet was in the first pouch that he opened. He inhaled with delight and lifted out the milky crystal. Contemplating the living light inside the enchanted crystal, he remembered the powers of Tempet and Alloi. Rearden wished that the tabre had not failed the Darhet, but loyal Atrophane could still put right what had gone terribly wrong. Surely the ease with which he had located the charm indicated the disfavor of the Gods for Dreibrand’s crimes.

Rearden smiled, imagining how superior he would be to common rys in combat now. With enough weapons, he would best them. The light of the crystal drifted through his mind so pleasantly, seeming to make any dream possible. When Rearden blinked, he did not know how long he had stood there staring at the late Darhet’s charm.

Rearden tucked the bracelet inside his jacket beneath the small circular plate of armor that covered his heart. He adjusted the straps that connected his chestplate to his shoulder plates so that the armor pressed the bracelet snugly against his body. After exiting the room, he cautiously sought his group while trying to carry himself with innocent confidence. The soldiers that he had come with waited outside Parlim’s office where Hepsat continued to talk business. A few of Rearden’s comrades eyed him with curiosity but no one questioned his solo wandering in the building.

While waiting for Hepsat to conclude his meeting, Rearden indulged in a smug smile.

******

The morning was over before the Atrophane, Nufalese, and Bosta representatives were ready to open actual negotiation. The efforts of several messengers had been required before Dreibrand gave his permission for the inspection of the military base, and then the Atrophane diplomats expressed their need for some minimal accommodations. The outside venue for the meeting flustered them, and the junior diplomats spent the morning directing their servants to carry chairs and even four small writing desks up the hill.

As Metchlan watched the diplomats furnish the hilltop and scurry to obtain enough weights to secure their papers, he complained that the whole meeting was being turned into a court.

Dreibrand explained that the junior diplomats would take notes during the discussions and those records would be used to draft a treaty eventually.

"Did they bring chairs for us?" Metchlan groused.

Dreibrand had already anticipated the problem. "I am having some brought out from town. After all this, I hope it does not rain," he said.

I hope it does, Metchlan thought.

After enough chairs had arrived, several miniature negotiations were necessary before seating arrangements could be decided. Wearied by the unimportant details, Dreibrand assigned Cevlead to making decisions. Cevlead did his best to accommodate the various demands from Metchlan and the Atrophaney diplomats.

At noon, attendants ceremoniously climbed the hill and mounted banners before Carfu, Jevenia, Sir Eddleket, and his senior aides arrived. Already seated, Dreibrand awaited them with Cevlead on his right and Faychan on his left. Metchlan sat in the third section of chairs with two of his associates. The rys soldiers and attendants for the other parties stood in an outer circle behind the chairs.

Carfu approached with his attention fixed on Dreibrand, as if the rest of gathering did not exist. Poorly veiled antagonism marred his friendly face. Jevenia entered the meeting with the haughtiness of a woman who knows that she is both important and beautiful.

Eddleket handled the opening of the meeting. He read Dreibrand Veta’s official request, as communicated by Commander Fanlyre, for a formal negotiation between Nufal and the Atrophane Empire for the establishment of peaceful coexistence. The senior diplomat then read the amendment that added the Bosta representative to the negotiation.

The Governor of Phemnalang stood and, after thanking Eddleket, finally scanned his audience that had taken so much effort to assemble. "I would speak with Dreibrand Veta alone," Carfu declared.

Jevenia and Metchlan huffed at exactly the same moment.

"What is this?" Metchlan demanded, coming out of his chair so fast that it tipped over. With an expression sick with betrayal, he waited for an answer from Dreibrand.

Disregarding the outcry, Dreibrand agreed to a private conversation with the Governor.

"You plot against me," Metchlan accused openly.

Dreibrand clenched his teeth to stop himself from making an angry response. He suspected that Carfu had made his inconvenient request in order to create suspicion between Metchlan and himself. Even so, Dreibrand wanted the opportunity to speak privately with Carfu. Perhaps this would be his chance to win over Sandin’s old crony. Carfu was a practical man, and with Sandin gone, the Governor might be willing to make new friends.

Metchlan turned his back on the gathering and began complaining to his associates.

Dreibrand leaned close to Faychan and said, "Tell him this is just a ploy by Carfu to anger him and show off his power. I promise Metchlan that I will tell him what Carfu and I talk about. Perhaps, the Governor will attempt to offer us a deal." Dreibrand raised his eyebrows suggestively, and Faychan’s imagination took off. The Masterspy moved quickly to the side of the rebel leader and began talking to him.

Carfu had disrupted his associates as well. He sternly ended their complaints by insisting that they would indulge his whim.

 Because Carfu and Dreibrand appeared to be staying in place, people began to get out of their chairs. Faychan managed to assuage the outrage of the Bosta leader and they moved back to the outer ring of observers. The Atrophane diplomats grumbled away to a polite distance. Before Jevenia withdrew, she glared suspiciously at Carfu.

"I remain committed to our strategy," he whispered, and his ominous tone reassured her.

After everyone left, Dreibrand and Carfu walked to the center of the grassy meeting area. Carfu was still getting accustomed to actually seeing Dreibrand. He had spent a few years assuming Lieutenant Veta was dead.

"You have upset Metchlan. Are you happy?" Dreibrand complained.

"Sure," Carfu said carelessly. "But he is not why I want to talk in private."

With a genuinely open expression, Dreibrand waited for Carfu to continue.

"What happened to Lord Kwan in Jingten?" Carfu asked.

The unexpected subject disappointed Dreibrand, who had been hoping for Carfu to address their current situation.

"Onja," Dreibrand answered, but the name lacked impact for Carfu who had no proper concept of the infamous rys Queen. "She imprisoned the Atrophane expeditionary force," he added.

"I know that," Carfu said. "But what happened?"

Dreibrand felt nearly helpless to make a reply. He comprehended Onja’s power and cruelty. He had needed all of his courage to make war on her. Onja was fear. She was despair.

Dreibrand said, "Carfu, I really do not have the details of what might have happened to Lord Kwan. He did not tell me, but he was in Jingten for months. I was only near Onja a couple times. I do not even want to imagine what a long period in her custody would be like."

Although disappointed by the lack of details, Carfu derived from Dreibrand’s unpleasant expression that a man would not want to be tested by the trials of the rys Queen.

"I have trouble conceiving of what could have broken Lord Kwan," Carfu admitted.

"I would not call him broken. I spoke to him before he returned east. He seemed troubled, but not broken," Dreibrand said.

"The last performance of a great leader for his men," Carfu said. "After Lord Kwan got home, he barely made any public appearances and retired as quickly as he could. He was shattered."

Dreibrand regretted the decline of his old Lord General, but he liked to think that Kwan would have fared better if he had taken him on his expedition instead of Sandin.

Carfu continued, "And what happened to you, Dreibrand? I did not even know for certain that you were alive until I heard word of…of what you had done." The vague reference to the removal of the Darhet darkened Carfu’s face.

Dreibrand refused to be uncomfortable. Bluntly, he said, "I suppose you can guess that I went west on my own. I found much success in my endeavors outside the Empire."

Carfu’s eyes lit up with comprehension. "You deserted," he surmised. "That is why I never heard anything. Are you not ashamed?"

Dreibrand believed that his sense of honor would always grapple with his failings as an Atrophaney officer, but he remained unapologetic.

"I am not ashamed that I ceased to take orders from other Atrophaney lords that night years ago. As you see, I am Lord General, and I do not regret what I have achieved," he said.

Carfu sneered with disgust, "You feel bad, but the ends still justify the means. And now you think you can bully the Empire into giving you some treaty."

"Not bully," Dreibrand said earnestly. "I want to make amends."

"Fine. Let me delay the negotiation not a moment more. I have asked you what I needed to ask," Carfu declared and turned away.

Urgently, Dreibrand said, "Carfu, you must have seen that Sandin and I were always headed toward conflict. Do not hate me for being his rival."

Carfu did not look back. "I never hated you, Dreibrand, but do not ask me to forgive what you have done," the Governor said and went to his chair. He signaled for his associates to return.

Metchlan immediately stalked toward Dreibrand and demanded information. Dreibrand mumbled honestly that he and Carfu had talked about their old commander. Although dissatisfied with the answer, Metchlan accepted that Dreibrand and Carfu could not have talked about much considering the brevity of their exchange.

"Did he offer a deal?" Metchlan inquired.

"He remains willing to negotiate," Dreibrand said and tried to display some confidence. He did not want Metchlan to guess how discouraged he had been by Carfu’s cold shoulder.

After all the people resumed their seats, Eddleket announced the first agenda item. He insisted that, before actual treaty discussions could commence, Dreibrand would have to make his case that his Lord Generalship was legitimate.

Dreibrand politely stood to address the gathering. "I, Dreibrand of the House of Veta and Lord of Nufal, will gladly explain myself to the representatives of the Atrophane Empire. However, I call that we first listen to the statement that Metchlan, the Bosta representative, has come to provide for you. He has grievances with the military occupation that are very important that you hear without delay."

Eddleket frowned at the diversion, and Jevenia quickly began whispering in Carfu’s ear. Metchlan brightened considerably and stood up, presuming that his chance to speak would be granted.

Dreibrand sat down and directed his attention completely toward Metchlan.

Because Carfu and Jevenia were ideally only killing time with the meeting anyway, they yielded to Dreibrand’s suggestion. Metchlan strolled over to one of the diplomatic secretaries seated behind a writing desk and instructed him to take notes.

When Metchlan started speaking, he surprised Dreibrand by displaying some courtly manners. He greeted the Governor and diplomats and thanked them for the opportunity to inform them about the needs of the Bosta people. Although Metchlan spoke decent Atrophaney, he then annoyed Dreibrand by asking him to serve as an interpreter while he detailed the official Bosta complaint in his native language.

I should have expected this, Dreibrand thought wearily, but he stood and graciously assisted.

As Dreibrand relayed the litany of Atrophane abuses, he occasionally softened Metchlan’s rhetoric for diplomatic ears. Metchlan was adept at rallying oppressed peasants, but his words needed some censoring to avoid rankling the Atrophane representatives. Dreibrand, however, believed in the necessity of curing the excesses of military occupation, and he faithfully translated Metchlan’s descriptions of slaving raids, property destruction and seizure, raping, village massacres, and the complete lack of recourse the Bostas had for ending any of the injustices.

When Metchlan finally stopped, Dreibrand added, "Governor Carfu, I support entirely the need to correct the situation in this territory. Clearly, the normal transition from conquest to viable member of the imperial community has not occurred here."

Disturbed by Dreibrand’s statement, Carfu said, "Are you saying that you actually condone the Bosta rebellion?"

"I state that I understand the reasons for it," Dreibrand clarified. "I, of course, abhor any action that causes harm and death to Atrophane soldiers or citizens. That is why I immediately established a truce between imperial forces and Metchlan. I support wholeheartedly the conclusion of martial law in this region so that the Bosta people can prosper within imperial society."

Before Carfu could respond, Eddleket interjected, "My Lord Governor, I must protest the continuation of this conversation. We have heard the complaint of the Bosta representative, and we are willing to consider it, but Lord Dreibrand is clearly trying to shift the conversation immediately to treaty subjects when he has not satisfied my first condition stated earlier."  

Carfu agreed and thanked Metchlan for his statements.

Metchlan hesitated before returning to his seat. He wanted to keep the meeting focused on Bosta suffering, but he doubted that he could gain anything until Dreibrand proved his claim to authority. When Metchlan sat down, he murmured to his companions that if Dreibrand failed, then they would withdraw while they still had the chance.

Dreibrand remained standing and began to describe the details of his rise to power. He emphasized that challenging Sandin for control of the Atrophane war host was the only way to turn it from the destructive course set by Sandin while under the alien influence of Tempet and Alloi. Sandin had failed as a leader when he refused to recognize the hopeless situation into which he had placed his soldiers.

Jevenia released her anger. "Who are you to criticize the decisions of Sandin Promentro, the rightful Lord General of the Atrophane military and Darhet of the West, appointed by Darmar Zemthute II?" she demanded.

Dreibrand touched his chest and replied, "If my noble opinion is not enough for you, I shall present the opinion of our esteemed Lord Governor of Phemnalang." Dreibrand removed from a pouch hanging from his belt the letter that Carfu had written to Sandin the year before. As Dreibrand opened the paper, he noted the brown smear of dried blood on it. Was it his blood? Sandin’s? Atarek’s?

Waves of grief broke over Dreibrand’s mental discipline. He swallowed hard and then read the short letter aloud. The diplomats buzzed as they exchanged comments, but Jevenia only gaped. In the letter, Carfu questioned Sandin’s judgment and begged him not to proceed against Jingten.

Dreibrand approached the Governor and waved the letter at him. "With your own hand you wrote to Sandin and told him that his entire course of action was a mistake. You must agree that I had to remove him from command. If I had not challenged Sandin, all of the Atrophane soldiers would have died, and the Gods only know what King Shan would be doing right now."

Carfu lurched to his feet. Clenching his fists, he stared at the letter, completely enraged. "You took that from Sandin’s body!" he yelled.

Dreibrand sauntered over to Eddleket and showed him the letter. "I found it in his clothes," he said dispassionately.

Jevenia complained with complete disgust, "You looted the possessions of my good cousin."

"As victor of the duel, I claimed my winnings," Dreibrand said.

Eddleket glanced up at Dreibrand. The senior diplomat had scanned the letter and easily recognized Carfu’s handwriting. The pleading words of the Governor had done much to sway his opinion.

"Lady Jevenia, law allows the victor of a military duel to claim his opponent’s rank and immediate personal possessions," Eddleket said.

"Do not lecture me about law, you fat fool," Jevenia said with classic Promentro disdain. "My law degree is just as good as yours, and a duel is nothing but murder and robbery if it is violated."

"Sandin accepted my challenge," Dreibrand asserted. "We properly followed the forms of Galmonlay Tradition."

Jevenia glared at Dreibrand with uncensored hostility and said, "Dreibrand Veta, your brother interrupted the duel and distracted my cousin, which gave you a chance to overwhelm him. The duel was corrupted and I say that I, my fellow diplomats, and the Governor of Phemnalang are wasting our time listening to the stories of a criminal."

Dreibrand faltered.

"Did your brother help you?" Eddleket demanded.

Struggling with the terrible memories from that day, Dreibrand blinked, as if confused by the question. Details about the duel were obscure. Vivid were Atarek’s pale face moments from death and the warmth of blood on his hands.

"I do not know," Dreibrand whispered.

"What was that?" Jevenia demanded. His shattered concentration delighted her, and she suddenly hoped that he might even confess.

Faychan recognized immediately that grief devoured Dreibrand’s poise. Although Dreibrand had recently been comporting himself with confidence and charm, the Lord of Nufal remained vulnerable.

"Who say duel not good?" Faychan interjected. Despite his marginal grammar, his challenge seized everyone’s attention. He swaggered toward the Atrophane delegates. He saw how they looked him up and down, analyzing his foreign appearance.

With ingrained Atrophane arrogance, Jevenia said, "You will not interrupt me."

Unimpressed, Faychan retaliated with his trademark expression that mixed amusement with violent intent. Her eyes widened and she leaned her body back ever so slightly. Faychan enjoyed watching his Kezanada-like wave of intimidation unsettle her.

"Lady Jevna, you not at duel. Who say to you what you say?" Faychan said.

Belatedly, Cevlead added his voice to Dreibrand’s defense. He regretted that he had taken so long to act when Dreibrand was attacked, but the accusations of a violated duel had caused Cevlead to review his memory of the incident. He was not quite sure what had happened either.

It does not matter, Cevlead admonished himself. Leaving his seat, he announced, "I have repeatedly given my word that the duel was valid."

Dreibrand was grateful that his friends rallied to his defense. As they confronted Jevenia, he groped for composure. He would not serve Atarek’s memory by letting guilt and sorrow weaken him.

Moving alongside Faychan, Cevlead continued, "Lord Governor, my sworn statement was good enough for you when we met in Phemnalang. This challenge of the validity of the duel is a personal insult to me. I forcefully request that the Lady Jevenia reverse her statement against Lord Dreibrand."

"I will not," she snapped.

"You not see duel. How you say what you say?" Faychan said.

Jevenia offered no reply. She did not want to reveal the source of her information and alert Dreibrand to Rearden’s secret activities.

Dreibrand finally spoke in his defense. "Lady Jevenia, you display only the prejudice that your Clan has for me, which serves neither me nor the Empire. You are unable to establish that your claim is true, and I say that the five thousand Atrophane soldiers who have accepted my leadership and obeyed my orders these past months clearly show that the duel was recognized as a valid transition of power."

Carfu quieted Jevenia’s next protest. "Perhaps Lord Dreibrand has a point about the obedience of the soldiers," he said.

Dreibrand saw that Carfu understood the wisdom of reining in Clan Promentro’s tempestuous representative.

After considering the Governor’s strong comment, Eddleket said, "Lord Dreibrand, you are correct that you cannot face accusations when no witnesses are produced against you." His tone advertised his contempt for Jevenia’s accusation after the way she had openly insulted him. With the practiced friendliness of a diplomat, Eddleket proposed that Dreibrand give his statement about the duel in addition to Commander Fanlyre’s account.

Dreibrand wanted to be difficult and refuse to give a statement, but flaunting his power could alienate Eddleket, who had been reasonable so far. As Dreibrand plotted his response, he realized that Jevenia had to be basing her accusation on something. Dreibrand trusted Cevlead, but he regretfully accepted that any one of thousands of Atrophane soldiers could have raised doubt about the strange conclusion of his duel.

At least I left Rearden in the Wilderness, Dreibrand thought.

Because someone had been spreading another version of the events about Sandin’s demise, Dreibrand chose to give a statement. He related the episode honestly. When he reached the point in the story when the dagger sank into his chest, his memory became scattered. "Sandin wounded me badly. I fell back. I saw him turn and that is when Sandin killed my brother. I cannot attest to exactly what happened. I was in the heat of battle. I swear that Atarek and I made no plot for him to assist me in the duel. If my brother acted inappropriately, he has certainly paid." Dreibrand took a deep breath, and many in the gathering were respectful of his moment of public grief.

Eddleket averted his gaze. He felt rude asking about such an obviously painful episode. Unlike Jevenia and Carfu, Eddleket had actually seen the Darhet when he was in league with the tabre, and Eddleket was inclined to believe that Sandin could have become reckless with the soldiers under his command.

Eddleket declared that he was satisfied that Dreibrand had legitimately claimed the rank Lord General. The determination clearly disgruntled Jevenia, but she restrained herself from making a scene that could end the negotiation for the day or permanently. Carfu said that he was content to proceed to treaty subjects, and Dreibrand dared to hope that his former comrade was now leaning toward a convenient outcome. The Carfu that Dreibrand had once known would surely want to return to the urban comforts of Phemnalang.

Dreibrand and his companions returned to their seats, and the actual treaty negotiation began. Because no one wanted to reveal ultimate plans too soon, Dreibrand stated briefly that he required a promise from the Empire that Nufal would not be invaded again. Metchlan gladly added demands, but prudently held back on voicing his desire to be governor of the province. When Eddleket asked if any discussion items remained to be noted, Dreibrand finally made his formal declaration that he required the end of the censure on his House.

Eddleket frowned, uncomfortable with the topic. He explained that the penalties that had been placed on the House of Veta were outside the purview of diplomats.

Carfu commented with casual insensitivity, "Dreibrand, that is something for the Darmar to decide. I suggest you go to Atrophane to make that request."

"I have no plans to travel to Atrophane. I am anxious to return to my family in Nufal," Dreibrand said. "Do not dodge the issue. I am speaking as a lord of a territory outside the Empire, and I want to know how the imperial government will treat my family members and me. Therefore, the diplomats can address this issue. Our treaty will contain the provision that my censure is revoked. A seven-generation censure is ridiculous anyway."

Amazed that Dreibrand would presume to dictate to the Darmar, Jevenia muttered a derogatory comment under her breath. With Jevenia’s temper simmering, Carfu welcomed the interruption when an aide tapped him on the shoulder. Carfu turned and saw that the Lieutenants Hepsat and Parlim were coming up the hill. Respectful of the meeting’s security limitations, they approached without extra soldiers.

Carfu called a brief break. As Hepsat went to the Governor, Parlim reported to Dreibrand, who appreciated that Parlim dipped to one knee as a sign of respect for his Lord General.

Parlim said, "Everything went fine, my Lord. The Governor’s lieutenant was pleased. He even said that you appeared to have done a proper job as Lord General."

"I hardly need a lieutenant who has been serving his hardest duty at Phemnalang brothels to judge me," Dreibrand said.

"Truly," Parlim concurred and glanced dismissively at Hepsat and Carfu. 

Faychan watched the Governor speaking with his officer, wishing that he could hear their conversation. Keeping his eyes on them, he asked Parlim if all the Governor’s soldiers had been returned to their encampment.

"Yes, I escorted Hepsat and his honor guard out myself, and then I came here with him to give my report," Parlim said.

"Good, and thank you, Lieutenant," Dreibrand said. "Please let our troops know that the Empire has just recognized me as the legitimate Lord General this afternoon."
"That is great!" Parlim exclaimed.

"I am sure you are quite happy," Dreibrand remarked.

Embarrassed, Parlim backpedaled from his evident relief. "My Lord, please do not think that I was only happy because I have feared reprimand. My Lord deserves recognition. If it were not for you, Metchlan over there might have really ruined my career months ago."

"Glad I could help," Dreibrand said. "Now, please, take Hepsat out of here. I want to get back to my meeting. We were just discussing my censure."

"Yes, my Lord, and good luck," Parlim said. He saluted, and as he walked away, he enjoyed a soothing sense of security that he had not experienced in a long time.

When the meeting started again, Dreibrand returned directly to the issue of his censure.

Carfu bluntly stated that he could not imagine that the Darmar would end the censure. "Dreibrand, the crime of your grandfather was not so far in the past," he added.

"And my innocent son’s future is not so far away," Dreibrand retorted. "No one can deny that my House has been punished thoroughly. Is there any Clan or House that did not benefit in some way from the vast seizures of land that ravaged my family’s wealth?"

Carfu was unmoved by the question, and Jevenia was incapable of feeling guilt. Cevlead, however, pondered what part his Clan had taken in looting the House of Veta when the Darmar had tossed its holdings to the snapping jaws of the Atrophane elite. Cevlead had not even been born at the time, but he still felt vaguely ashamed.

Without receiving any responses, Dreibrand added with truly regal confidence, "I am prepared to make a very generous offer to the Empire in order to have my House reinstated to full noble privilege."

Eddleket promptly asked to hear the offer.

Dreibrand withheld the details. The rumors about his new wealth would sufficiently tease the diplomats for now.

Dreibrand said, "Before I can make my offer, I need a commitment from the Empire that martial law will be ended in the Bosta Territory. And I want a detailed plan for the establishment of a civil government."

"Why do you care so much about the Bostas?" Jevenia said, exasperated by how he draped himself in their cause. Carfu had advised her not to be distracted by Dreibrand’s methods for complicating the situation, but she had to indulge herself and ask the question.

Dreibrand faced Metchlan when he answered her. "As you see, I consider myself a western leader. My friendship with my Bosta neighbors is very valuable to me."

Metchlan absolutely loved what Dreibrand was doing. He did not care at this point if he was a tool because Dreibrand was his tool as well. Yes, my dear ally, get those troops out of my home, Metchlan thought.

Returning his attention to the Atrophane diplomats, Dreibrand asked if they were ready to make some commitments concerning the Bostas.

Eddleket squirmed with obvious reluctance, but Carfu accepted the topic for immediate discussion.

"My Lord Governor," Eddleket said. "This could take a long time. Perhaps a fresh start in the morning…"

"I did not realize you were keeping bankers’ hours," Carfu said. "Let us keep talking."

Eddleket’s broad stomach rumbled with hunger. With the oak tree shadows stretching down the hillside, he had expected to wrap up for the day. Despite the denial of access to Droxy, he had sent his servants shopping for fresh produce in the markets, and he was looking forward to the decent dinner they would prepare. But knowing that his appetite was not the issue, he accepted the Governor’s decision.

Faychan quietly advised Dreibrand to support Eddleket’s suggestion to start again in the morning because they had no need to hurry. Dreibrand was torn between the prudence of slow-playing the negotiation and the risk of allowing Carfu time to reassess the value of discussing the Bostas. Dreibrand chose to keep going, and the conversation that ensued surprised Dreibrand with its thoroughness. Carfu questioned every point that Metchlan made carefully, but still made concessions when appropriate. When wrangling over the timetable for reducing troops in the territory stalled the discussion, Dreibrand sided with Metchlan’s insistence on a speedy transition.

Carfu then proposed a compromise, and by the time Metchlan accepted it for consideration, the sun was sinking into the hazy horizon beyond the forest and cliffs. Eddleket sent for lanterns so that the secretaries could continue writing. Carfu asked that the diplomats organize their notes and then present a summary of the day’s discussion before adjourning.

Because most people were hungry at this point, the secretaries assembled a recap rather quickly, but, as Carfu had expected, the review took a long time. Metchlan required a translation for his Bosta associates, which Dreibrand provided as a secretary read each item. Then, of course, issues were constantly questioned and revisions were added to the notes. Carfu offered many points of clarification himself and watched with satisfaction as the dusk deepened.

After agreeing to meet the next day, Carfu concluded the meeting and came forward to personally bid Metchlan and Dreibrand a good evening. The Governor and the rebel leader did not shake hands, but they expressed appreciation for each other’s willingness to consider a peaceful resolution.

Carfu did not offer his hand to Dreibrand either, but he smiled when he said, "I hope that tomorrow I will get to hear your grand offer that will convince the Darmar to end your censure."

"You shall," Dreibrand promised.

"Do you plan to buy me with your treasure?" Carfu said curiously.

"Is that what you want?" Dreibrand asked, excited by the possibility that Carfu would be amenable to bribery.

Carfu watched the shadowy movements of the rys soldiers as they mounted their horses in the dark. "I will think about it," he said.

As the Governor walked away, he hoped that Rearden had used his time well. He hated all the stupid compromises that he had discussed with the Bostas but had no intention of fulfilling.

The civility between Dreibrand and Carfu complicated Faychan’s judgment of their interaction. Although the first full day of negotiation had gone well, Faychan was not reassured by the apparent progress. He warned Dreibrand that he was wary of the Governor and added, "That Promentro woman and her hate for you may be too pretty for him to resist."

"Yeah, she is a problem," Dreibrand conceded although he wanted his peace treaty badly and disliked the pessimism. "But Carfu is acting as I would expect. He will come around."

"He is coming around with his troops. They moved into the nearest village," Faychan said. "That is not a friendly gesture. Join me in the forest. We would benefit from plotting together tonight in case we are attacked."

Sobered by the suggestion, Dreibrand wanted to accept the invitation. He craved the comfort of a secret camp with his loyal Nufalese men around him, but the Atrophane soldiers required his attention. "I must return to the military base. I cannot neglect the loyalty I have cultivated among those soldiers. It is what keeps Carfu in check," Dreibrand said. "Come to Droxy with me and we will talk there."

Reluctantly, Faychan declined because he was eager to hear reports from his spies, who awaited him in the forest. He said that he would contact Dreibrand that night if any news could not wait, but otherwise, they would meet in the morning. With Metchlan already hastening off the hilltop, Faychan hurried to catch up to him. Monitoring the rebel leader remained a priority for Faychan as well.

Cevlead brought Dreibrand his horse. He had listened while Dreibrand and Faychan spoke in the western language, and he had decided to inquire more often about their private conversations.

"Trouble?" Cevlead said.

Dreibrand gathered Astar’s reins and said, "No, but I should not let a good day of negotiation prevent me from being cautious. We must hurry," he said. He then asked Dey to scan the road.

When Dey announced that the route was clear, they started swiftly toward town.

24. An Overdue Request

Blood thudded through Rearden’s tense neck. The pounding gallop of riders on the road grew louder, and in the last seconds before Rearden launched the ambush, he dreaded that he had overlooked some detail. Perhaps in the moonless dark, someone other than Dreibrand rushed down the road.

It is him, Rearden thought and reassured himself with the facts. The intimidating rumble of mounted warriors could not be confused with a farmer on a plow horse. The rebel groups were not using the roads. Carfu certainly knew not to send anyone down the road, and the time was right for Dreibrand to be rushing back to the military base.

Ready to attack, Rearden squatted behind the single roadside tree to which he and his accomplices had tied a heavy rope. The other end of the rope waited in the gloved hands of the two strongest men in the group on the opposite side of the road.  Four soldiers with pikes lay flat in the weeds beyond the tree, and six archers hunkered along the road, ready to pepper the rys bodyguards with arrows.

Adjusting the crossbow in his hands, Rearden pictured the height of a rider and what angle to use to make his shot true in the dark. The bracelet on his wrist grew warm, and he suspected that approaching rys made its mysterious force flare. He suddenly missed Alloi with a deep aching, but the power of her enchantment encouraged him.

Rearden listened to the unlawful Lord General rushing closer, heedless of his danger. Dreibrand could not see the two dead western men in the pasture where Rearden and his soldiers had run into them while rushing to the ambush site just after dusk.

The powerful bodies of the horses surged between the hidden ambushers, filling the space on the road with bulky vulnerable targets. The soldiers lifted the rope across the road, held it with all their strength, and caught the lead horse across its chest. The impact tore the soldiers off their feet, but they held on long enough to restrain the startled animal that stumbled and reared. The horses behind it skidded to a jumbled halt.

Dreibrand automatically adjusted his posture to the stay in the saddle when Astar reared. The terrible reality of the ambush seized his mind and he drew his sword. The awful snapping of crossbows heralded disaster. Horses neighed with fear and pain, and the flash of attack spells lit the panicked scene in flashing blue.

Rearden came out from behind the tree. He carried a special crossbow recently developed by Atrophane weaponsmiths that could load three quarrel bolts at once. Its range was short but the ability for successive fire had tremendous use. He took careful aim, knowing that each precious quarrel had to count. He shot and a rys cried out. He pulled back the string with its special lever and heard the click as the weapon re-armed with its second shot.

The rys, even with their senses befuddled by the warding crystals, spotted Rearden in the light created by their spellcasting. Two attack spells landed on him at the same time. He squinted in the dazzle of energy, but his flesh was insulated from the searing attack.

The brightness of the spells revealed Rearden to Dreibrand, who shouted his name like a curse. A soldier charged Dreibrand with a pike. The heavy spear skewered Dreibrand’s horse just behind the left shoulder, and the marvelous animal screamed and thrashed as the weapon drove deeply into its body. The soldier holding the pike was wagged to the left and to the right, but he held on until the animal was down. Then, he pulled his short sword.

Leaping from the back of his mortally wounded mount, Dreibrand bashed the soldier’s sword aside and took his head off with his next sword stroke.

Rearden fired his second crossbow shot, and the ugly shaft sank into Dey’s torso. The kind rys shouted with anguish. Dey lifted his hand and fired another ineffective spell at his tormentor. Then an arrow from another archer hit him in the shoulder, and Dey dropped from his saddle.

"Dey!" Dreibrand yelled and ran toward him.

An arrow streaked across Dreibrand’s line of vision and hit another rys. Dreibrand whirled toward the archer and hacked at the darkness. When he located the man, he assaulted the archer with incredible fury. He knocked the empty crossbow from the man’s hands and gashed his throat. As the soldier fell back, Dreibrand smelled the hot burst of the man’s blood.

Cevlead had drawn his sword, but he was sick with dread at the thought of striking at Atrophane soldiers. He looked around in dismay as the rys closed ranks around their three injured comrades. A pikeman took down one of the rys’s horses, and the bellows of the steed amplified Cevlead’s horror. Dreibrand was unhorsed and fighting without hesitation, seeking the shapes that were briefly revealed in the shifting light. The final test of Cevlead’s loyalty to Dreibrand had begun and he did not know the answers.

Get out of here! he thought. Cevlead yelled for the rys to ride on. Escape was their best hope. He steered his horse around Dreibrand’s grunting steed that thrashed in death throes.

"Dreibrand! Come on!" Cevlead shouted, offering a hand.

Three rys cast flash spells simultaneously and dazzled the archers, which brought momentary relief from their shots. Dreibrand squinted in the painful glare and charged the closest soldier. He killed the man and ran onto the next soldier who was holding his crossbow down with a foot and reloading. Dreibrand kicked him over and plunged his blade into the soldier’s torso.

Seeing Dreibrand actually kill their countrymen appalled Cevlead, and he could not react when two Atrophane soldiers with pikes ran toward him. A pike sank into Cevlead’s horse just below the saddle, and the horse bucked in crazy pain. The other pike slammed Cevlead across the back and levered him out of the saddle. He recovered from the fall, but he only held his sword defensively and did not strike at the nearest Atrophane soldier. The other soldier, who had speared Cevlead’s horse, brought out the crossbow strapped over his back and confronted Cevlead with the perilous weapon.

"Drop your sword, traitor," the soldier commanded.

Cevlead looked over at the rys soldiers. Two apparently lay dead in the road, three were wounded, including Dey who was speaking to his remaining comrades in the rys language.

"Your head will be a kabob," the soldier threatened Cevlead, who then dropped his sword.

Dey lifted himself halfway to his feet. He held the quarrel that protruded from the front of his body as if it was a handle to assist him up. Dey felt the slickness of his purple blood coating the awful shaft.

The four rys who were not hurt went on the offensive. One rys plucked a pike from a dying horse and ran down an archer with the spear. Two other rys had hopped down from their horses and were trying to help the wounded back into their saddles.

"Keep fighting," Dey gasped as a comrade tried to help him to his feet.

Rearden fired his third shot. His missile killed the rys assisting Dey.

The two strongest Atrophane soldiers who had manned the rope joined the melee. With shields and short swords they came at Dreibrand. Before they could trap him, Dreibrand deftly spun around the first man and hamstringed him with a swift swipe of his sword. The second soldier faired better. He kept his shield up and gave ground.

Rearden reloaded his crossbow but in his haste he could only slip one bolt into the chamber. He approached Dreibrand, ready to complete his business.

Loving the view of Dreibrand’s back down the spine of his crossbow, Rearden shouted, "I have you Dreibrand!"

Dreibrand paused in his battle with the soldier and took a step back. He glanced at Rearden and saw the crossbow aimed at him.

Dey propped himself up on the body of his dead comrade. The dissipating lifeforce of his beloved companion drove him into a rage. He had played games with this friend since they were ryslings, and Dey funneled his horrendous emotions into his magic. He aimed an attack spell at Rearden, pouring his power against the enchantment. The act was futile. Even incensed, Dey lacked the power of a great spellcaster. Only the edges of the crossbow smoked a little after Dey’s effort.

"You cannot touch me!" Rearden shouted over his shoulder with triumph.

Choked by anger and pain, Dey slumped uselessly across his friend’s body.

Rearden aimed his weapon more precisely at Dreibrand. "I will shoot you," he promised. "Now drop that damn sword and put your hands up!"

Dreibrand hesitated and surveyed the scene. Rearden surmised that Dreibrand was measuring who remained active among his guards and the ambushers.

"All of you stop or I kill Dreibrand right now!" Rearden shouted.

One more defiant attack spell flashed around Rearden and then the road was dark except for the bark burning on the tree. Along with the ugly groans of dying horses, Dreibrand heard chains being slapped on Cevlead.

Adding to his misery, Dreibrand knew that some of his rys friends had been killed or hurt. He had expected that their power and mystery would prevent an attack, but he had miscalculated badly. "Do not worry about me. Help your comrades," he said to the rys and dropped his sword.

Rearden approached Dreibrand, actively thinking about just killing him anyway, but he wanted Dreibrand to suffer public humiliation, especially after making him dump the Darhet’s body in a mass grave.

Stopping close to Dreibrand, Rearden said, "I should just pull this trigger right now."

"And I should have buried you with Sandin," Dreibrand said, and before Rearden could respond, Dreibrand was in motion. He smacked the crossbow and actually tore it from Rearden’s grip without causing it to fire. Then, Dreibrand spun and kicked Rearden in the side of his head. Dreibrand landed from his spin and flipped the crossbow around in his hands.

Rearden reeled and Dreibrand took aim, but the soldier behind him slammed him across the head with his shield. Dreibrand cried out. His helmet saved his skull from being crushed, but the blow caused him to squeeze the crossbow trigger. The deadly quarrel nicked Rearden’s neck.

"Gods!" Rearden shouted, amazed that the soldier’s effort to save him had not actually killed him.

The soldier struck Dreibrand another blow across the back of his legs, which made him buckle to the ground. Rearden and the soldier pounced on Dreibrand together. A drastic struggle ensued as both men wrestled with Dreibrand.

The three rys still fit for battle rushed to help him, but the three surviving Atrophane archers held them back. The rys hesitated with their long knives drawn and their horses stamping in agitation. At such close range and with multiple warding crystals shielding the archers, the rys had little chance of deflecting flying arrows with their magic.

Two soldiers started to hustle Cevlead away, but Dreibrand fought on. He rolled the soldier off his back and grappled with Rearden. Mutual dislike gave extra strength to their blows. Rearden wore fine kidskin gloves suited for using the crossbow, but metal plates were riveted into the knuckles of the gloves, and he got a good stunning punch across Dreibrand’s jaw. Before Dreibrand could recover, the soldier grabbed him again and pinned him to the ground.

"Get his dagger!" Rearden shouted as he held Dreibrand’s legs.

Dreibrand kicked and Rearden threw his entire weight over the legs in order to hold him down.

The soldier’s grip on Dreibrand’s shoulders loosened suddenly and a wet spray hit his forehead. With his upper body free, Dreibrand grabbed Rearden’s head and twisted it back while reaching for his dagger. Dreibrand flipped Rearden over and thrust with his small blade, but the Atrophane officer jerked away in an artful panic.

Another man appeared beside Dreibrand and tried to grab Rearden who was scrambling back to his feet.

"Oh, damn! He’s like a fish!" the man cried in the western language.

"Faychan!" Dreibrand yelled.

They wasted no time on greetings. Dreibrand grabbed his sword and he and Faychan ran after Rearden.

An arrow came out of the darkness and hit an Atrophane archer. The rys charged and one threw his knife and killed the man hamstrung earlier by Dreibrand. Another archer got off a shot, but his aim was careless and his arrow missed. The Atrophane then retreated as they realized that warriors had come to support Dreibrand.

 Dreibrand stepped in a gopher hole and stumbled. Faychan grabbed his shoulder to steady him and they paused. Breathing hard, they listened. The swish and clank of soldiers running across a field gave them an approximate idea of the direction taken by Rearden.

Faychan stopped Dreibrand from continuing the pursuit.

"We will only chase them until they reach their comrades," Faychan warned. "I want to save you not get caught with you."

"Where are your men?" Dreibrand asked.

"I only have two," Faychan said.

"What? You were with Metchlan. Where is he?" Dreibrand demanded.

"He would not come and I had no time to argue," Faychan explained, and the night hid his disgusted expression as he recalled Metchlan’s reluctance to involve himself. Faychan continued, "Gulang and Fen Li reached me west of here only moments ago. They were coming with news from a man loyal to you at the Wilderness fort. He had traveled here to warn you that Rearden had gone to find Carfu. I rushed to find you and tell you. It seems that I arrived barely in time to save you."

Dreibrand’s thoughts spun as he considered Rearden, Metchlan, his narrow escape, and his foolish hopes for a peaceful resolution. He sucked blood off his teeth and felt for the first time the places where he had been hit.

"Come," Faychan urged. "Rearden may come back if he realizes how few men I have."

"They have Cevlead! We must help him," Dreibrand said.

"We must get to a secure position," Faychan insisted. "Rearden was obviously trying to take you prisoner. His plot must have been to take you to Carfu, who would benefit by your capture."

Dreibrand lingered briefly in anxious frustration, but Faychan had judged the situation correctly. The wounded rys needed help and now that Rearden’s ambush had failed, Carfu might return in force to seize him.

Back at the road, injured animals had already been put down. The toppled body of Astar was a vague heap in the starlight, and the loss of the gorgeous colt made Dreibrand feel as though Nufal itself had been knocked out from under him. Astar had been groomed since his first wobbly-legged romp across the plains to be his special steed.

The dire condition of Dey dragged Dreibrand toward his next grief. His rys friend had been hurt far worse than his surviving comrades. The rys had yet to lift Dey from the ground because they were debating whether to begin treating him there or attempt to hold him in the saddle with arrows protruding from his torso.

"We will get a wagon from town," Dreibrand interjected. "Let us take him to the fort and tend him."

Faychan quickly said that Dreibrand dare not return to the base because it was undetermined if Parlim had played any role in the attack.

"Why would he?" Dreibrand argued. He resisted the possibility that others had turned on him. "If Parlim wanted to take me prisoner, he could have done it at the base."

"It does not mean the he did not know," Faychan said. "And letting you be ambushed would disassociate him from involvement in case it failed, which is just how a man like Parlim likes to play things."

"Dreibrand," Dey called weakly.

Dreibrand stooped beside the fallen rys and apologized for bringing him into danger.

"Do not blame yourself. You have tried so hard to set these people on a good path," Dey said. "But you must not worry about me. Keep yourself safe."

"I am going to help you," Dreibrand said firmly. Abandoning Dey was impossible. Dreibrand told Gulang and Fen Li to get a wagon or cart from town.

"I will ride," Dey declared, unwilling to allow Dreibrand to bother with the delay of fetching transportation. The bleeding rys pushed himself up. He clenched his teeth instead of crying out. Dreibrand assisted him, but the rys could hardly stand and slumped in Dreibrand’s arms. Dismayed by the suede jacket soggy with blood and the two arrows protruding from Dey’s body, Dreibrand held the rys, shocked as always that beings with such power could be physically vulnerable.

Faychan decided, "We will go to a hidden camp near here. Rys are there and they can take care of Dey."

A rys helped Dreibrand lift Dey onto his horse. Dreibrand carefully climbed into the saddle behind Dey and leaned to the left to avoid touching the arrow sticking out from Dey’s shoulder. The rys clutched Dreibrand’s arms when he gathered the reins.

With Faychan in the lead, they rode west into the wild forest. The rys bore their dead with them, but the slain Atrophane were left in the road.

Outside of Droxy, the Nufalese warriors and rys had set up secret camps. Although they moved frequently, the placement of the camps followed a predetermined pattern, and Faychan went to the nearest one.

Despite their need for haste, he complicated their route slightly as a matter of principle. They splashed up a creek, heading west until rocky rapids forced them out of the water. Then they climbed a steep bank and were intercepted by a large group of rys at the top of the ridge. As the rys learned the details of the attack, their anger grew. Tiny storms of blue lightning brewed in their eyes, and the black forest twinkled ominously with their rising appetite for retribution.

Rys riders pressed close around Dreibrand as they descended the other side of the ridge into the camp. A few torches and campfires marked the enclave of warriors in the thickly wooded niche of land. When Dreibrand stopped, eager blue hands reached up for Dey and gently took him down.

Human warriors gathered around Dreibrand when he dismounted, but he looked past them and watched as Dey was carried away. His rys friend’s head hung over the arm that supported his neck.

Gulang and Faychan were explaining to the others what had happened, but Dreibrand did not answer any questions or acknowledge their relief that he was safe. He shouldered his way through the crowd until he reached the campfire where Dey had been taken. Two rys were cutting the jacket and shirt off the respected rys soldier and healer, and, in the firelight, Dreibrand saw the blueberry syrup blood that smeared his fine body.

The rys who tended Dey consulted quietly in their language about what to do. Dreibrand felt utterly powerless as he looked upon the kind being who had done so much for him but now teetered on the perilous edge of death. Terrible guilt criticized Dreibrand for relying too much on his rys guards, even when numerous warding crystals were in the area and accessible by Rearden.

Abruptly each rys grabbed an arrow and magical blue light burned down the shafts. Dey moaned feebly but did not move as the spells intensified and heat drilled into his body. One arrow was withdrawn with its shaft in flames and its superheated metal tip glowing orange. The next arrow came out soon after the first, and the wounds were cauterized during the extraction.

When the rys slapped their hands over his smoking wounds and began casting healing spells, Dreibrand kneeled by Dey’s head. Dey panted, unable to breathe without agony. Dreibrand removed a glove and set a comforting hand on Dey’s forehead.

"Will you enter a healing trance?" Dreibrand asked.

Dey could feel how much Dreibrand longed to help him, which was deeply rewarding. The rys ceased to feel his pain and drifted into unconsciousness.  

Another rys answered Dreibrand’s question. He said that Dey was spent after casting so many spells and it was unlikely that he would be able to save himself.

Dreibrand gently brushed a lock of Dey’s black hair out of his slack face. Too angry with himself to tolerate his sorrow, Dreibrand stood up. The rys parted for him as he stalked out of their group with a grim look upon his face.

Ragged with tragedy, Dreibrand reentered the human world that he could influence. Dreibrand summoned the Atrophane soldier who had brought the news of Rearden’s roaming. Gulang had detained him at the camp and promptly had him brought forth. He was a typical Atrophane infantryman, still young but hardened by service. He kneeled to his Lord General, and introduced himself as Ekaldin.

After telling the soldier to rise, Dreibrand asked, "What brings you to me, Ekaldin?"

He explained that after the supply caravan had reached the fort and everyone had been paid, Lieutenant Rearden had learned that Governor Carfu was coming to the region. Within days, the rumor started that Rearden was quietly calling soldiers who possessed warding crystals into his office and confiscating the crystals. Naturally, this action was disliked but orders had to be followed. Then Rearden disappeared. His cook confirmed his absence, and the soldiers posted at the fort began to talk openly about what their missing lieutenant might be doing.

Ekaldin said that his own sergeant had gone to the commander left in charge and asked about Rearden but had received no answer. The sergeant soon decided that word had to be sent to the Lord General about Rearden’s disappearance.

"It is no secret what the Lieutenant thought of you, my Lord," Ekaldin said. "And those of us who are loyal suspected that he had gone to meet with Governor Carfu. We wanted to make sure you knew."

"And only you came?" Dreibrand said.

"Others wanted to, my Lord, but the departure of one man would be easy to hide. I was smuggled out of the fort four nights ago and have been riding hard all that time, fearing that the rebels would get me and skin me. I thought I was a dead man when your people grabbed me off the road," Ekaldin said.

"Sorry if they frightened you," Dreibrand said. "Have you been told what happened tonight?"

Ekaldin nodded. "My Lord has given Lieutenant Rearden so many chances. How can he be like this to you?" the soldier asked because his loyalty to Dreibrand felt so right.

Dreibrand did not answer the question. Instead, he thanked the soldier and assured him that his warning had saved his Lord General from capture. The soldier was embarrassed by the personal expression of thanks from a nobleman who had no requirement to show a commoner gratitude. Humbly, the soldier mumbled that he had been pleased to do his proper duty.

The sincere loyalty of the soldier soothed Dreibrand, who now would have to count on such faith existing throughout the soldiers in the territory.

"I know you are tired, Ekaldin, but I have an important assignment for you," Dreibrand said.

He gestured for Ekaldin to walk with him, and they moved into the midst of the warriors. The young soldier noted the curious but respectful glances from the Nufalese men. His actions to help Dreibrand had bound him to them, but camaraderie with barbarians was an uncertain sensation for Ekaldin.

When Dreibrand found Faychan, they conversed in the western language. The soldier heard the name Parlim mentioned several times. When the men seemed to be in agreement, Dreibrand turned to Ekaldin.

"Ekaldin, I must give you this mission because it is safer for you than if I sent any of my Nufalese men," Dreibrand said. "Go to the base in Droxy and take Lieutenant Parlim my message. Speak only to Parlim."

Ekaldin nodded earnestly, and Dreibrand continued, "Tell the Lieutenant that I summon him. He must come here tonight and speak with me. A few guards may ride with him, but that is all."

"Yes, my Lord, but, um, where is here?" the soldier said and explained that a sack had been on his head when he was brought to the camp.

Dreibrand smiled with approval for the procedure. "One of my men will take you to the road. We will not be here much longer. You and Parlim need only ride west out of town on the road, and we will find you," Dreibrand said.

Faychan added in rough Atrophaney. "Say you know where you go. Not say that we find you," he advised.

After the soldier unsnarled Faychan’s meaning, he wondered if he would be lulling the Droxy lieutenant into a false sense of security. Even in the erratic torchlight, Dreibrand caught the doubt and worry on the soldier’s face.

He set a hand on Ekaldin’s shoulder and said, "I guarantee Parlim’s safety. I give you my promise on that, Ekaldin," Dreibrand said.

Ekaldin saluted. With the promise of his Lord General, he could believe that he was not leading an Atrophane officer into an assassination.

Gulang returned Ekaldin’s weapons and horse to him and led him toward the road. As Dreibrand watched the loyal soldier leave, he contemplated the divisions he had created within the Atrophane military. A mudslide of ugly conflict was engulfing his plans for a diplomatic solution.

Waking now from his dream of peace, Dreibrand analyzed how his absorption of part of the military threatened Carfu and the Empire with civil war. The attempt to take him prisoner showed that Carfu dreaded this messy result.

Dreibrand took a deep breath and accepted that, to defend his family’s future, he was not bluffing about anything anymore.

Thinking of the elements that he needed to command in order to exert his power, Dreibrand asked Faychan if he knew where Metchlan had gone.

Faychan answered, "He has been operating from a farm just north of Droxy. I am sure he went there. I have already sent scouts to inform him that you have not been harmed or taken prisoner. I expect him not to do anything while he tries to judge what will happen next."

"I must decide what will happen next," Dreibrand said heavily as he set his priorities. "Metchlan can skulk for now, but before I go after Cevlead, I must know if Parlim is with me or against me. I must confirm that I have control of the Atrophane forces in this territory before I move on Carfu, but I curse the time that will take."

 "I have been thinking on that, Dreibrand," Faychan said. "You must not go after Cevlead yourself. If Rearden has taken him to Carfu, which is likely, you must not risk falling into Carfu’s hands. I will get Cevlead back for you."

"How?" Dreibrand said.

Faychan explained that the rys were already speaking of directly assaulting Carfu’s camp because they also believed that Rearden had gone there. Before the dawn, the rys meant to have revenge upon Rearden and his accomplices for attacking rys participating in a peace negotiation. The Atrophane newly arrived from the south would be taught not to ambush rys. 

"While you wait to hear from Parlim, I will go with the rys, and in the mayhem of their strike, I will find Cevlead and free him," Faychan said.

"You cannot even be sure where he is," Dreibrand said.

"I will talk a few rys into helping me locate him if I need to," Faychan said as if the whole mission were very routine.

Although Dreibrand would never have asked the rys to attack Carfu’s camp, he considered that their desire to punish the Atrophane might benefit him. It would certainly intimidate Carfu, which might even get him to return to negotiation.

"If I am to do this for you, I must get ready now. The rys will move soon," Faychan said.

"Cevlead has done so much for me; he must be helped, but be careful, Faychan. I would not trade you for any man," Dreibrand said.

"I am touched, my Lord," Faychan purred. "I will fetch your favorite little officer as a special favor."

Dreibrand scowled, realizing that he was starting to run quite a tab with Faychan. Because the debt was mounting anyway, Dreibrand said with malice, "If you want to do me a special favor, take care of Rearden."

For weeks before reaching the imperial frontier, Faychan had advised Dreibrand about the need for Rearden to have a fatal riding accident. "An overdue request," Faychan grumbled. "But I shall oblige my Lord."

25. To Prosper in Ruin

The desperate man must play his cards with both hands.

—Phemnalese proverb

 

Lieutenant Parlim leaned back into his chair, not to relax, but because he felt like he was sinking to the muddy bottom of a cold lake. 

The commander, who Parlim had sent to check on Dreibrand’s whereabouts, continued his report. "I recognized it as Lord Dreibrand’s saddle on the dead horse because of its foreign design, Sir. I grabbed it before a Bosta carted it off. People were already gathering to claim the horse meat."

"Animals," Parlim fumed. "I knew Lord Dreibrand should have never bargained with those rebels. Now they have betrayed him."

"The people I spoke to said we did it," the commander said.

"Well, of course, the Bostas are going to blame us," Parlim said wearily.

"Sir, I know," the commander conceded. "But the dead Atrophane soldiers on the road were not recognized by any of the men with me. I think they could be from Governor Carfu’s camp."

Parlim considered the commander’s opinion, but he did not like what it meant. He scanned his desk as if the answer to his problem would be lying there, written up as an official document.

The commander, clearly pained by the evidence, said, "My guess is that the negotiation broke down and Carfu attacked our Lord General."

"If that is the case, why have not any of Lord Dreibrand’s men come here to tell me anything?" Parlim said.

As the commander replied helplessly that he did not know, Parlim frowned because he privately answered his own question. 

A soldier ran into the doorway of Parlim’s office. Breathing hard, he asked for permission to come inside.

Parlim waved him in immediately. "What is it?" he said.

"Sir, a soldier named Ekaldin is at the gate. He says he is sent by the Lord General," the soldier reported.

The lieutenant ordered him brought to his office immediately.

While waiting for the soldier, Parlim and the commander looked at each other. They silently shared their anxiety over the nature of the news they were about to receive.

When Ekaldin arrived, he promptly saluted the lieutenant of the Droxy base and introduced himself. Parlim and the commander listened as the soldier delivered the startling details about the attack by acting Lieutenant Rearden and Dreibrand’s narrow escape.

"Is the Governor behind it?" the commander said.

"I am not certain, Sir," Ekaldin replied cautiously.

"Anything else, soldier?" Parlim said.

"Yes, Sir. The Lord General summons you," Ekaldin said.

"Did he say how many men he wanted me to bring?" Parlim asked, and the bold query and its implications widened the commander’s eyes.

With a very serious expression, Ekaldin recalled his instructions precisely. He informed Parlim that he was to come with him, as soon as possible. No troops were summoned but they could go with a light guard.

"No troops!" the commander cried. "But what can he hope to do?"

The confusion of the commander did not cloud the meaning of the message for Parlim. He realized that he was under suspicion and refusing the summons would apply a thick layer of guilt onto him. Dreibrand was testing him. Parlim calmly told Ekaldin to wait in the hall.

After the office door closed, the commander demanded emotionally, "Sir, what are you going to do?"

"You seem to have an opinion. I give you permission to speak freely," Parlim said.

The commander hesitated. He respected his lieutenant and even felt that he enjoyed some confidence with his superior, but he was riled and feared that he was measuring his words with too big a cup.

Composing himself a bit, the commander said, "Sir, as you know, I was in the north and I believe that Dreibrand Veta saved us from ruin. He could have let that rys King just kill us, but he didn’t, and he challenged Sandin Promentro as a noble man and fought him in a brave and fair duel. Our Lord General did not deserve this sneak attack. By the Gods, it may have even been an assassination attempt. The Governor must be behind the attack. He was Sandin Promentro’s friend, and I think…." He trailed off and let his silence tell the rest.

"Are you suggesting that the Governor is now our enemy?" Parlim said.

Abashed, the commander shrank from speaking his heart because the consequences repelled him. "I will do my duty," he murmured.

Parlim observed how the commander retreated to the guiding principles of their society, even as his desire pulled him toward a rougher path.

Methodically, Parlim said, "Yes, both of us have our duty as officers in the Darmar’s military. But it seems that so far from the civilized heart of Atrophane, a man must sometimes define his own duty. If Lord Dreibrand, or for that matter, Lord Governor Carfu, are any examples to us, you see how the highest in our class operate, especially on the wild edge of Ektren."

Almost worried that he would get what he had nearly demanded, the commander again asked what his lieutenant would do.

Parlim opened the drawer on his desk and pulled out a fresh sheet of paper. The watermark of a far off Cros papermaker lightly labeled the refined stock. The commander waited nervously for an answer while Parlim’s inky quill scratched across the paper. The lieutenant signed his name and then scanned his note.

"Commander, take this message to Carfu. His camp has moved into the nearest village, Wa Gira," Parlim instructed as he folded the note and heated his wax stick in a candle. He pressed his seal into the blob of hot wax and handed the note across his desk.

The commander did not reach for it. Instead, he stared defiantly at Parlim. "What is that, Sir?" he said.

"It is a dispatch from your superior officer," Parlim said and gave the note an impatient wag.

When the commander continued to look at him questioningly, Parlim realized that these were not days in which one blindly followed orders.

He said, "Commander, this is our insurance policy in case the Gods stop favoring Lord Dreibrand." 

The commander eyed the note thoughtfully now. The wax of the seal had hardened and could be cracked only once. What Parlim suggested tempted the commander, but he still did not want to deliver the message.

"Trust me," Parlim added with a meaningful expression.

Reluctantly, the commander accepted the note.

Parlim said, "This will give you a chance to see what the Governor is doing. Play along with whatever he says after he reads that. Do not tell him anything you know about Lord Dreibrand and get back here as soon as you can."
"Yes, Sir," the commander said, encouraged by the additional orders. He wanted to ask more questions, suspecting so much about what actions Parlim might take, but he gathered that his errand into the camp of the Lord Governor made it imprudent for him to know any thing more.

After the commander exited the office, Parlim prepared to join Ekaldin. The lieutenant took his cape off the rack and threw it around his shoulders. He donned his gauntlets, and when he placed his helmet over his head, he reflected that gambling money would cease to give him any thrill after this night.

******

Near the single road that penetrated the old growth forest west of Droxy, Dreibrand sat on a log. He imagined the unseen beetles that crawled among the rotting crags of the trunk that was wedged between two living trees. Sometimes he thought that he even heard the insects moving, and he tried to be inspired their ability to prosper in ruin.

The forest canopy blocked the starry sky from his view and the darkness insulated him from his unraveling plans. Not until morning would he have to see his torn hopes for peace strewn across the land like shredded bits of clothing left when a small child was taken by a panther.

For the moment, Dreibrand enjoyed security. His Nufalese warriors patrolled the woodlands around his hiding spot, and Gulang, a dark shape amid the shadowy trees, stood nearby. Dreibrand expected that his enemies would be occupied for a time because Faychan had departed with the rys on their mission of vengeance.

While waiting for Parlim, Dreibrand choked on his winnowed options and did not pace, as was his habit. He lacked the expectation that his circling steps could kick up a creative solution, and he sat still and pondered his next move very carefully.

Only hours ago, he had seemed so close to making progress for all sides. Now, the fresh Atrophaney blood on his hands punished him for every miscalculation. Securing Nufal and ending his censure were proving to be impossible without further use of force. The tactician inside Dreibrand suggested that he capitalize on his Bosta alliance. The rebel forces could be incited to attack Carfu, which would prevent a conflict between the Atrophane factions, but relying on Metchlan blighted the appeal of the strategy. Yet, Dreibrand agonized over the ugly alternative of directly contesting Carfu for authority in the western Empire.

I can still make Carfu negotiate. He knows better than to test my military resolve, Dreibrand thought. Already, the ambush would have reminded Carfu of Dreibrand’s readiness to fight and kill.

Sick with guilt, Dreibrand tried to remember if he had killed four or five men during the ambush. He had reacted so quickly. Only two of the deaths stuck out in his mind. 

The woodwind call of an owl gently roused Dreibrand from his remorse. He listened closely to the next hoot and recognized that a man instead of an owl was signaling. The sound of riders galloping on the road filtered through the trees. Gulang moved closer to Dreibrand, and they waited together until they heard the sentries challenge the riders. With proper Atrophaney confidence, Parlim shouted his name in reply.

"My Lord, do you think he is still with us?" Gulang asked.

Do I want him to be? Dreibrand wondered, ambivalent about Parlim’s arrival. "We will see, Gulang. Stay with me as I talk to him," Dreibrand said. He closed his fist over the warding crystal on his sword.
A half dozen warriors brought Parlim and Ekaldin to Dreibrand while the horses and four soldiers who had come with the lieutenant were hustled off to the other side of the road.

Dreibrand uncovered the crystal when the group arrived, and Parlim recognized the small enchanted light.

Discerning the black form of a man, Parlim said, "I hope that my Lord General is well."

Dreibrand stepped forward. "And I hope that you are sincere in your concern," he said.

"My Lord, of course I am," Parlim said.

"A moment, Lieutenant," Dreibrand said. He stepped past Parlim. "Ekaldin, is that you?"

"Yes, my Lord."

Dreibrand praised the soldier for doing his job and then told him to get some well-deserved rest. The other warriors would guide him to a camp where he could eat and sleep. 

Ekaldin departed with four of the warriors and the other two men drifted a short distance into the trees, leaving Dreibrand and Gulang alone with Parlim. The arrangement distressed Parlim, and the crickets screeching in the forest litter seemed to snicker at his vulnerability.

Parlim wet his lips and boldly said, "What can I do to pass this test, my Lord? I know that you suspect me."

"That is a good question," Dreibrand said. "I have been trying to figure out the answer to that myself."

Daunted by the cloud of suspicion thundering over his head, Parlim said, "My Lord, I have come to you without delay and nearly alone. I knew of no plot. In fact, I sent men to look for you when you did not return to the base. Please consider and believe that if I ever had any desire to dislocate you from your Lord Generalship, I could have acted long before now."

"Perhaps the arrival of Carfu has given you motivation to act against me," Dreibrand countered.

"If Carfu wanted my devotion, he should have come long before now," Parlim said, and Dreibrand sensed the sincerity of the lieutenant’s sentiment.

Parlim added earnestly, "My Lord General, have I not earned your trust over these many months?"

When no example of Parlim’s failing came to mind, Dreibrand answered, "Yes, you have, Lieutenant, and I think that if you had been guilty, you would not have come. How could you risk that I had gained some knowledge of your betrayal, if that had been the case?"

"How could I risk that you had been misinformed was more precisely my concern," Parlim said.

When Dreibrand asked Parlim how he had overcome that concern, Parlim replied very seriously, "I knew that Dreibrand of the House of Veta would give me a chance if I stood accused."

Hearing his character held in high regard heartened Dreibrand. Honesty and good actions had made gains beyond the reach of bribery and manipulation.

"I have another question for you, Lieutenant," Dreibrand said. "Did you come to me only to prove your innocence regarding what happened to me tonight, or to talk with me of how I shall retaliate?"

Parlim exhaled wearily. "I came to hear your orders, my Lord," he said.

Hear my orders, Dreibrand observed cynically, but he expected such semantic skill from Parlim.

To stall pursuing the subject, Dreibrand asked Gulang if he had anything to eat. Gulang pulled his backpack off a shoulder and offered it to Dreibrand, who took out a crumbling bread ration.

As Parlim observed the simple act of sharing, he glimpsed Dreibrand’s life in the Wilderness where bonds between men were based on survival and not just profit and power. Dreibrand and the barbarian seemed to possess a kinship that superceded their births in separate lands.

When Dreibrand finished his quick snack, he told Parlim about Cevlead’s capture and the rescue operation that was in progress. Parlim sagged with worry and asked if Dreibrand was certain about Cevlead being taken to Carfu’s camp.

"We will know by morning," Dreibrand said. "But it is the only logical place for him to be. Rearden surely went to Carfu and organized the ambush on me. I can at least hope that Carfu is decent enough not to do anything to Cevlead, at least not yet."

"Do you think this rys attack will incite Carfu to come after us?" Parlim said.

Dreibrand admitted that he was not sure. The rys attack could frighten Carfu back into negotiating, which Dreibrand would welcome, but it might easily force Carfu to go completely on the offensive. Dreibrand doubted that the rys would be inclined to prolong their aggression beyond their mission of retribution, and it was likely that Carfu could weather the storm.

"Then, my Lord, why did you order this rys attack if its outcome is so uncertain?" Parlim asked.

"I did not order it. I do not command the rys. We have a friendly relationship, and they often do me favors, but I could not have stopped this attack. They want vengeance for the rys that were killed tonight. Rys are not men. You just do not kill them," Dreibrand explained. He shook his head sadly and exchanged a knowing look with Gulang.

Worried about his commander who was visiting Carfu, Parlim asked if the rys attack would be like when King Shan defeated Sandin’s war host.

"Gods no!" Dreibrand said. "But I imagine that it will be bad for those men that the rys identify as guilty of striking at their comrades."

"How will they do that, my Lord?" Parlim asked.

After a pause, in which Dreibrand considered Parlim’s motivation for the question, he answered, "Those who attacked me were definitely shielded by warding crystals, which I assume were originally from Tempet and Alloi. The very wardings that block the bodies of those soldiers from the rys minds will mark them as guilty when the rys see them up close with their eyes."

"And they will kill only those?" Parlim pressed.

"I do not know. I suppose others will die because they will fight for each other," Dreibrand said with disgust for the reality that he could not stop, and even if he could, he would do better to let it happen.

Parlim heard in the Lord General’s heavy voice the buried anguish of an Atrophane man who was responsible for the deaths of his countrymen. The lieutenant asked his Lord General if he would attack Carfu’s force after the rys assault.

With the decision so close, Dreibrand felt a twinge of sickness. "Lieutenant Parlim, I suppose it would suit you if I let my troubles pass you by," he said.

Assuming that he was being tested again, Parlim said, "My Lord, you have been attacked. It would suit me to defend my Lord General’s position."

"Even when you know that means the soldiers under your command must be called upon to pressure Carfu?" Dreibrand said.

Parlim did not respond quickly. He glanced at Gulang, who listened to them, perhaps catching the occasional Atrophaney word or phrase. Parlim envied the foreigner. Gulang could follow his lord into battle without the difficulty of attacking his own society. Parlim then considered that Dreibrand, who, despite his passion for Nufal, obviously longed to restore his connection to his homeland. The generous treaty he offered the Empire proved his worthy purpose.  

"My Lord, I admire your reluctance to cause conflict among Atrophane," Parlim said. "I know that you have tried to avoid this."

"Tried to avoid?" Dreibrand repeated angrily. "I either avoid something or I do not. I should give up and go home. I did not come here to start a civil war."

"Perhaps one is needed," Parlim blurted. The abrupt declaration released him from his misgivings. He truly wanted Dreibrand to prevail. The presence and leadership of Dreibrand had most likely saved Parlim from the end of a rebel spike and he was grateful.

The lieutenant gladly vented, "I have suffered the mismanagement of the western Empire, and I would see things changed. Sandin Promentro left me to a slow death by rebellion, and Carfu Anglair has the gall to attack your leadership after I begged him for troops last fall? My Lord, give me the order to battle. We will go to the base, get the soldiers and finish this once and for all."

The proposal stunned Dreibrand. He had not wanted to imagine that other Atrophane would be willing to spill the blood of their imperial colleagues. Although depressed by the possibilities, Dreibrand owed it to his followers to use the power that he had. If his grandfather had possessed such military support, perhaps the censure would have never happened. As a younger man, Dreibrand had pursued a career in the Atrophane military precisely for its potential for building a power base. And his successes had made him dangerous. That was why Sandin and Lord Kwan had taken steps to stymie his career. After so much effort, Dreibrand had not expected to have difficulty embracing his goal.

Is this not truly what I have meant to do for a long time? he asked himself. The death of his brother may have cracked his warrior spirit, but for how long could Dreibrand sustain himself with well meaning overtures of peace?

I have made the Wilderness mine, and my wealth and power will wash the stains from my noble family, he decided.

"It seems that I am not the only disgruntled noble," Dreibrand murmured.

"Noble privilege is only maintained by the use of power," Parlim said, citing the traditional creed of the Atrophane noble class that had been paramount before the Darmar and Derataem system curbed the contentious society.

Although Dreibrand basically lived by such words, hard lessons had taught him the cost of the philosophy. He said, "I hate this needless violence, especially when we could just live together if only a proud few would forget about Sandin Promentro." He paused, accepting again what it would take to make imperial memories fuzzy. "But I hate more the time that battles will take. I have been away from my home a long time. I have a beautiful wife and small children, who are a ceaseless joy to me. I miss them. Everything I do is so that I can return home to them with some hope of a secure future."

Dreibrand had never spoken to Parlim about his family waiting for him in Nufal. The solitary Lord General, encased in his gloom, who Parlim had served from a distance, now became closer to him as a real man, and Parlim sympathized with him. Dreibrand was an Atrophane man defending his home, which of course meant that he would hunt down the source of aggression and eliminate it, as any Atrophaney man would do.

"Then we are to fight Carfu?" Parlim said.

"Yes," Dreibrand said and felt damned by his own answer, but he spoke resolutely. "At least, a good portion of Carfu’s troops are mercenaries and territorial conscripts, which should make this a little easier for our troops to stomach. Let us talk strategy."

While providing Gulang with frequent translations, Dreibrand described his goal of trapping Carfu’s force in the valley and cutting him off from the rest of the Empire. 

 Dreibrand said, "We will go to the base, Lieutenant. We must move as many troops as possible east of Droxy before sunrise."

"Out of Droxy?" Parlim said. "How will that defend the base?"

"Occupation and control of Droxy are worthless," Dreibrand explained. "Ideally, Carfu will try to seize that base because he wants a secure location. If so, he can have the base because it will only make it convenient for me to siege him. Even if he does not go for Droxy, I must still be in position to block his escape. By moving our forces out of town, we can take control of the road and then secure the river crossing—the only decent link with the Empire. To make Carfu accept my treaty, I must cut him off and threaten more territory. If he is stubborn, I can march on Ciniva and Revena, collecting military forces as I go. Who can stop me? I am Lord General with Atrophane troops under my command. Carfu will be held back in the Bosta Territory. I could even conceivably go to Phemnalang and make myself Governor. That possibility should get Carfu’s attention," Dreibrand said and was amused by his cockiness.

The simplicity and audacity of the plan impressed Parlim.

Dreibrand said, "But hopefully luring Carfu into my trap will be sufficient. His tolerance for frontier life will wither quickly, and I will get my treaty."

"I think, my Lord, that it is very likely that Carfu will make for the base," Parlim said.

When Dreibrand asked Parlim what made him so certain, the lieutenant felt a little seasick. Nervously, he confessed, "Because, before I came here, I sent him a message declaring my loyalty and offering my service."

Dreibrand actually laughed and then translated the answer for Gulang, who laughed as well. "Parlim, are you trying to give two lords reasons to kill you?" Dreibrand said.

In his defense, Parlim said, "My Lord, I must point out that sending a positive message to Carfu allowed me to get a man in his camp. I expect to have a report of his status soon."

Dreibrand studied him critically for a moment. Parlim’s candor reassured Dreibrand, who truly could not begrudge the lieutenant his actions. Being caught in the power struggle of generals was not an enviable position.  "It seems we met tonight to test each other," Dreibrand remarked.

Parlim only smiled.

"People are coming," Gulang announced in the western language.

The woods thickened with warriors as Dreibrand’s men converged protectively around his location. Gulang intercepted a man before he reached Dreibrand, but let him through after a brief exchange of whispers.

After Dreibrand spoke with the messenger, he said to Parlim, "Wait for me here, Lieutenant. Metchlan has contacted me and I would speak with him while I have the chance. I will not be long."

"My Lord, what are you going to say to him?" Parlim asked and his distrust of the rebel leader colored his words.

"I will tell him something to keep him useful to me," Dreibrand replied hastily and hurried away with warriors gathering at his heels.

Parlim sat down on the log to wait. Although uneasy about Dreibrand’s involvement with the Bostas, he reminded himself that he valued Dreibrand’s ability to control the Bosta threat.

At a nearby campsite used by both Nufalese and Bostas, warriors milled around campfires as reports and rumors circulated. Metchlan stood next to the largest fire with his trusted man Tamzel. Everyone expected action soon, and, when Dreibrand rushed into the gathering, the men parted between him and Metchlan, obviously expecting some grand plan to unfold as the leaders met.

A log popped and cinders jumped into the air behind Metchlan’s head when he turned to greet Dreibrand.

"You will make a good rebel yet, Lord Dreibrand," Metchlan said and shared a chuckle with Tamzel.

"I need little practice in that trade," Dreibrand said.

"Good, because it seems that you have little choice now that our negotiations are over," Metchlan said.

"One ambush does not mean that negotiation is over," Dreibrand said.

Metchlan laughed louder. "Oh, Lord Dreibrand, they attacked you. You must want to fight now."

Dreibrand noticed that Metchlan had two new swords strapped across his back. Looking at the handles sprouting from the Bosta leader’s shoulders, Dreibrand wondered which weapon the one-handed man reached for first.

"You did not come to help me earlier," Dreibrand commented and the smile dropped from the lanky rebel’s face.

"I had no idea you were in trouble. Faychan just said he had urgent news to give you. I am not your errand boy," Metchlan defended. "But as soon as I heard the good news that you were unharmed, I came here to find you and offer my help. It seems that I am the only ally that you are ever going to get."

Dreibrand observed that Metchlan relished his return to conflict with the Atrophane. It felt comfortable for him, and he evidently wanted to believe that Dreibrand’s authority among the Atrophane was slipping.

Graciously, Dreibrand decided to let Metchlan show off his imagined power for his followers.

"I am glad that you are here, Metchlan," Dreibrand said. "I still very much want our plans to go forward."

"Of course," Metchlan agreed. "I think that we should organize an attack on Carfu as soon as possible."

Dreibrand said that he hoped that, after a little maneuvering, he could get Carfu to return to genuine negotiation.

Wearied by Dreibrand’s endless mind games, Metchlan said, "Be serious. Now is the time to strike. I hear your rys are going to give the Governor a bloody nose, and we should follow that up with everything we have. We can get rid of those imperial boys and have things are way. Is that not what you want, Lord of Nufal? After we destroy Carfu, it will be six months before the Empire even figures out what happened."

"Why be so quick to spend brave men and effort on combat without trying to corner the Governor into negotiation?" Dreibrand countered.

Metchlan scoffed and called Dreibrand stubborn.

"I prefer persistent," Dreibrand said. He then outlined for Metchlan his strategy for trapping Carfu in the territory and pressuring him while avoiding a big battle.

"Let him take Droxy!" Metchlan cried. "What are you talking about?"

"Do not worry. If Carfu goes for Droxy, he will go to the base. He is not going to burn the town," Dreibrand argued. "Look, I have the troops to deal with Carfu. Help me keep him contained, and I will cede civil authority of the Bosta Territory to you immediately. No waiting for a treaty. Right now. It will be the beginning of your Governorship."

Metchlan stomped out of the firelight and bowed his head in thought with his back to Dreibrand. Thoughts of becoming Governor engaged him far less than the tempting image of Dreibrand fighting with Carfu. Metchlan would be very happy to stand by and let them diminish each other.

The Bosta leader turned around. "You are right, Lord Dreibrand. Trapping Carfu is much more efficient, if you can do it. How can I help?" he asked enthusiastically.
Dreibrand asked that the Bosta forces not challenge Carfu if he made a move for Droxy. If, in the event that Carfu did not move for the town and instead challenged Dreibrand for the road, then the Bostas should attack Carfu’s rear and draw him back to town.

"You better be right about Carfu not sacking Droxy," Metchlan grumbled.

"What would that gain him?" Dreibrand said. "Time is running out. Do you agree to this plan?"

 "I was the one who told you to attack Carfu, so of course I agree," Metchlan said.

Although annoyed by Metchlan’s attempt to frame the plan as his idea, Dreibrand thanked him for his cooperation. Keeping the Bostas under control mattered more to Dreibrand than pride as he upped the stakes for the Empire from a rebellious territory to civil war.

26. Unfolding Mayhem

The soldier yanked Cevlead’s chains and forced him to his knees. A second soldier tore Cevlead’s helmet off and flung it on the ground. Cevlead twisted uncooperatively as the soldier unbuckled his chestplate, but he could not prevent the armor from being stripped away.

When Cevlead was jerked back to his feet, he overplayed his exhaustion. He was breathing hard after being hauled across rough pastures and into the forest. Stumbling and swaying, he pulled back on the manacles that felt like they were breaking his wrists. 

A few more soldiers caught up to Cevlead and his handlers, and Rearden shouted for everyone to keep running. Recognizing Rearden’s voice, Cevlead hollered an obscene suggestion at him.

Rearden grabbed Cevlead by the throat and smacked him.

"Where are you taking me?" Cevlead said, still resisting to move.

"To the Governor," Rearden replied angrily. He shoved Cevlead, who let himself fall.

Rearden kicked Cevlead in the thigh, which hurt terribly, but Cevlead managed to chuckle through his gritted teeth. "I’m not exactly who you wanted, am I?" he taunted.

Rearden ordered the soldiers to pick Cevlead up and hold him. Two men grabbed the chains hanging between his wrists and pulled his arms over his head. Rearden poked a dagger through Cevlead’s jacket. The cold tickle of the weapon pricking his abdomen consumed Cevlead’s senses.

Rearden pushed the dagger in a little deeper and said, "I am sick of listening to you, traitor. One more word or false fall, and I will gut you." He jerked the dagger to the side and cut Cevlead’s torso.

Cevlead hissed in pain but stopped resisting. He ran with his captors even though every step yanked on his sliced torso and his bashed thigh cramped.

The trees gave way again to open fields, and farther ahead, watch fires and torches marked the buildings of a small village on a hill. Cevlead figured that it was Carfu’s force occupying the community.

Rearden shouted the password as he encountered sentries, which proved to Cevlead that Rearden had been in league with Carfu. Cevlead passed the shacks, cottages, and barns of the village. At the village center, the red and blue tents of the imperial delegation were set up among the old beech trees that crowned the hill.

Scores of lanterns and torches illuminated the delegates’ camp. The blood red tent of the Governor glowed among the dark blue diplomatic tents, and the mellow gold of nearby thatched roofs peeked out of the dark. Weapons, buckles, and armor glinted in the light. The officer’s uniform that Cevlead wore did not insulate him from the soldiers’ hostile looks, and he suffered the curious condemnation on their faces until he was pulled inside the largest red tent.

The Governor, Jevenia, Sir Eddleket, and a diplomatic secretary were seated inside. The entrance of Rearden with soldiers and a prisoner surprised Eddleket completely. He choked briefly on the olive that he had just popped in his mouth, and when he coughed it free, he jostled the snack tray on its tiny stand by his hand. The senior diplomat and his dutiful secretary grabbed the tray at the same moment and stopped it from tipping over.

At the sight of Rearden, Jevenia grinned hopefully, and Carfu popped up from his folding chair and instantly inspected the battered group.

"Where is Dreibrand?" the Governor demanded when he did not see whom he eagerly expected.

"My Lord, I almost had him," Rearden said. "But more warriors came suddenly and defended him. I did take his accomplice, Fanlyre, prisoner."

"Fanlyre! What am I supposed to do with Fanlyre?" Carfu shouted. He and Cevlead locked eyes, and both men were equally angered by the sight of the other.

Rearden tried to answer that Cevlead could be a useful hostage because Dreibrand was fond of him, but Carfu did not care to hear any suggestions. He slumped physically with disappointment and brooded on the consequences of the foiled plot.

Knowing that he had failed, Rearden lapsed into cautious silence and held the stab wound on his upper arm. Cevlead had the tiny comfort that his mediocrity as a hostage added to Rearden’s disgrace.

Jevenia, although deprived of her prize, seemed needy for any target upon which she could direct the anger of her Clan. She stormed up to Cevlead. "You, I am told, were the first man to betray my cousin on the battlefield," she said.

Reminded intensely of his dissatisfaction with Promentro leadership, Cevlead discarded his shame for his deeds. He lifted his head, and although he was ruined and stripped, he would face her version of justice as a noble man.

"Yes, I was," Cevlead said. His chains rattled as he shifted in the grip of his keepers. "I am glad that Sandin Promentro is gone. I value my rank as Dreibrand’s friend far more than any rank in an army with Sandin as Lord General."

"You just got your Clan censured! I will devote my life to that," Jevenia declared.

Carfu examined the unrepentant gaze of the young officer, who had played the part of the innocent underling so well in Phemnalang. As Carfu detected the respect and perhaps even devotion that the man had for Dreibrand, a thin frown revealed his deep annoyance. Carfu recalled how the soldiers had always loved Dreibrand best, fighting valiantly under his orders, sharing in the joys of his victories. In the old days, Carfu had not really cared because his prestigious future was quite secure, but now he tasted of the jealousy that had gagged Sandin.

"Only a barbarian would consider Dreibrand Veta fit company," Carfu said.

Eddleket unburdened his creaking stool of his ample frame. Vexed by the interruption of the meeting and roused by Cevlead’s shackled condition, he demanded to know what was going on.

Carfu only cursed and glared at Rearden with disapproval, but Jevenia informed Eddleket of the side plot to ambush Dreibrand, which had unfortunately not gone well.

Although astounded by the reckless plot, it quickly explained to Eddleket why Carfu had been tossing out generous offers at the negotiation like candies at a holiday parade.

Because ridiculing the Governor was unwise, Eddleket turned on Rearden. "How could you be stupid enough to think you could defeat his rys bodyguards?" Eddleket said.

Rearden, hoping to claim some respect, replied that his warding crystal had worked superbly and he had even killed a couple rys. "I almost had him," Rearden insisted again.

Shocked, Eddleket gaped at the meddling officer. "You killed rys?" he whispered fearfully. "Gods of Ektren help us."

Rearden disregarded the senior diplomat’s dismay. He had faith in the protective powers of the bracelet, and he was glad that he had hurt some rys. They had bolstered Dreibrand’s authority too much and Rearden said that he had gained a partial victory by dismantling Dreibrand’s facade of invulnerability.

Unimpressed, Carfu stopped the spin that the officer was trying to place on his disaster. "Your partial victory could be our undoing. I was a fool to be tempted by your idea," Carfu said, and Rearden resumed his silence because words could not court the favor of the Governor after actions had failed.

Scowling deeply, Eddleket complained, "This is completely against protocols. That is a noble you are dragging about in chains there."

"Your observation is noted," Carfu said tersely and advanced on Cevlead. "Tell us, Commander Fanlyre, do you have any desire to redeem your name and tell us what Dreibrand intends to do?"
With a bold smirk, Cevlead said, "If you recall, Carfu, Dreibrand intended to negotiate a peace treaty with the Empire."

"Oh, so we are on a first name basis?" Carfu snapped, but he was mostly irritated by the possibility that Cevlead had spoken honestly. Carfu was scrambling mentally with the fact that peaceful negotiation had been interrupted not by the Bostas, not by Dreibrand, but by him.

"He has to know something. Beat him until he speaks," Jevenia said.

Although Carfu believed that Cevlead deserved to have Jevenia’s request indulged, Carfu had no time to waste on his useless prisoner.

"You will be hauled back to Cros to face trial and potentially censure," Carfu decided. The Governor then hollered for his squire, who darted into the tent and skirted the captive. Carfu issued a string orders. Bring him Hepsat. Have Cevlead chained to a supply wagon and guarded. And Rearden was to avoid his sight.

Stung by the third person dismissal, Rearden wondered, as hindsight lashed his failure, why he had not killed Dreibrand when he had the chance. The Gods must work against all who are just, Rearden thought miserably.

After Rearden slunk away with his captive, Eddleket scolded, "Lady Jevenia, how could you suggest that the Governor beat a noble? And why was I not informed about this plot to ambush the Lord General?"

"He is not the Lord General," Jevenia argued.

Eddleket rolled his eyes. "Lady Jevenia, your rank in no way corresponds with your diplomatic skills. Being a diplomat means convincing others to accept your position not simply shouting it over and over."

"I don’t need your tutoring. Go finish your dinner," Jevenia said.

Eddleket’s secretary smothered his smile as he looked forward to gossiping about the stinging exchange between his superiors.

With a frown enhancing his double chin, Eddleket declared, "Lady Jevenia, you have performed your duty in a most beastly fashion. I am disappointed."

Jevenia moved her head with the rhythm of his last few words, indicating her complete disrespect for his opinion.

"You should take this seriously," he insisted. "Ambushing nobles and taking one prisoner. Disgraceful!"

"I am so scared of Clan Fanlyre," she said.

"Well, then how about the rys?" Eddleket demanded. "Your brilliant Clan has completely ruined my efforts of the past two years with Jingten. I was on the verge of establishing an embassy. Now I imagine an Atrophane cannot set foot in the Rysamand without dying a horrible death. You know, Dreibrand Veta might have been able to fix things for us. The rys revere him for some reason."

"Oh, please, Eddleket. You wanted Sandin to succeed. I remember a time when you were positively drooling over the possibility that he might conquer Jingten," Jevenia said.

Eddleket called upon the Gods to forgive his foolishness. "Just because I wanted your cousin to succeed does not mean that I ever thought it was a good idea," he amended. "And now you have attacked rys again. You should have informed me of your nasty plot. I would have advised against it."

"It is too late for your advice," Carfu interrupted testily. "Go pack your things and your staff. We shall be on the move soon."

Eddleket grasped the looming crisis, but he still believed that he could help. He offered to go to Dreibrand and say that Rearden had acted independently. Dreibrand appeared to be a reasonable man, and Eddleket believed that he could get him to continue the negotiation.

"No. I want him gone," Carfu decided and made a chopping motion with his hand. His clear call for Dreibrand’s demise pleased Jevenia.

The glory she took from her renewed influence with the Governor disgusted Eddleket, who thought, The closest thing to a diplomatic bone in your body is the Governor. He restrained himself from voicing that opinion, however, and said, "I will get ready to move, my Lord Governor, as you command, but my experience remains at your disposal as this dispute progresses."

He emphasized the word experience, and Jevenia glared at him.

Uninterested in the petty sparring of the diplomats, Carfu rubbed his temple and muttered, "I should have brought more troops."

******

 Removed from the presence of his judges, Cevlead ceased to find solace in his defiant dignity. Crushing inadequacy assailed him. No matter what he did, he always failed. And grasping at greatness had only accelerated his rate of loss. When he had needed to fight for what he wanted, his lack of resolve had reduced him to a prisoner.

Padlocked to an iron ring bolted to a supply wagon, he sat on the ground and leaned against a wheel. The dirty smell of the axle grease suited his mood. Although he longed to be with Dreibrand, even that sentiment of loyalty seemed unclean. The image of Dreibrand killing Atrophane soldiers educated Cevlead in subjects that he did not want to learn.

The extraordinary events of the past year had muddied the clear sense of duty that the Darmar’s military academy had poured into the mold of his twenty-one-year-old mind. He missed that unquestioned belief of purpose and wondered if he had based his decisions on noble ideals or the temptation of lavish rewards.

He concluded that it had been some of both.

Accepting that he was neither a perfect man nor a bad man, Cevlead considered that he was not so different from Dreibrand, who had truly tried to avoid more violence and been prepared to offer the Empire an honorable peace. Cevlead, by his actions, had already implicitly forgiven Dreibrand for the Atrophane he must have killed during the invasion of Nufal, and because Dreibrand most likely faced execution if captured by Carfu, Cevlead could again forgive his chosen lord and friend. 

Will I be any less condemned because of my restraint when I should have defended myself? Cevlead wondered, and brushing his fingers over the cold chains, he had his answer.

Cevlead reached higher and examined the ring that held the chains. After fiddling with his fetters, he waited for a gap in the guards patrolling the line of wagons and then tried to pry the ring from the board with the edge of his manacle. But, after several attempts, he only gouged his wrist with splinters and bashed his hand.

He slipped back into his despairing posture as the next guard walked by. While trying to think of another plan for freeing himself, he noted increasing activity around the village. Cooking gear was clanging as it was packed and horses neighed while being saddled unexpectedly.

Some soldiers rushed by Cevlead with a group of Bosta villagers who had been impressed into servicing their unwelcome guests. They carried gear and sacks of grain from their own stores and loaded them into a wagon at the head of the line. Tents began to collapse, and two of the guards on patrol around the wagons went to assist with the packing. Cevlead, assuming that he had little time left to act, pulled himself into the wagon. He draped his chain over the wooden side of the wagon and pushed on it with a foot to gain leverage against the ring. The chain ground into the edge of the wagon, and he applied all his weight to the chain with one foot and both hands.

When he heard a group of soldiers and villagers coming, he crouched in the wagon and hoped that no one would notice him. Busy with their work, the group passed. He reached out, felt the ring, and was discouraged by its unchanged and firm connection to the wagon. Panting, he wiped perspiration from his forehead and prepared to try again.

He had just stood up, pulled the chains tight and put his foot on the links when a soldier yelled at him. Having no reason to be ashamed of his behavior, Cevlead merely looked to see if he was about to have a spear shoved through his body.

"Get down," the soldier ordered.

Still bent over his chain, Cevlead noticed a half-full bag of horse feed in the wagon. He grabbed the loose burlap and looked sideways at the point of the soldier’s spear glinting in the torchlight.

When the soldier impatiently prodded Cevlead with his spear, Cevlead grabbed the spear just below its sharp-edged head and swung the feed bag at the soldier’s head. It smacked him hard and he yelled with surprise. They struggled over the spear and Cevlead hit him with the grain bag again.

The soldier jerked the spear out of Cevlead’s grip and stumbled back a couple steps out of range of the bag. They were both puffing after the brief and intense struggle. As the soldier opened his mouth to call for assistance, fiery blue explosions erupted along a sentry line outside the village. Screams punctuated the strange flashes, and the soldier stared toward the field with confusion.

"What on Ektren?" he whispered.

Cevlead looked over his shoulder just in time to see another burst of blue lights that moved through the night like a stone skipping over water. Cevlead knew what he was seeing.

Taking advantage of his knowledge, he triumphantly informed the startled soldier, "It is rys magic. They are coming to get me. You better leave before they get here."

Alarmed, the soldier stared stupidly at his prisoner, who he suddenly relied on for information.

"You have heard what rys do to soldiers," Cevlead added.

The eyes of the soldier widened, confirming that he had indeed heard the terrible stories.

From all sides of the village came shouts of alarm. Horse hooves drummed across the fields, and soldiers from the sentry line started racing into the village to deliver reports.

A sergeant ran down the line of wagons to gather men on guard duty and ordered the soldier who was confronting Cevlead to follow him.

"But, Sergeant, the prisoner is trying to break loose," the soldier said.

The sergeant swung his torch toward the ring holding the chains and confirmed that it was intact. "We are under attack!" he cried. "This man is secure. Come on."

The soldier hurried away with the sergeant.

Although Cevlead believed that the sergeant’s confidence in the chains was well placed, he immediately dropped the bag and seized the chains again. Thrilled by the belief that Dreibrand had sent the rys to rescue him, Cevlead found more strength.

He pulled on his chains until the board cracked. With all his aggression, he kicked down on the chain again, and the wooden board gave way very suddenly. His foot struck the wagon bed at a bad angle with the chain links beneath his heel, and Cevlead cried out. Crumpling into the wagon, he held his foot and rocked in pain.

After complaining to the Gods and then asking them for help, Cevlead overcame his shock. A few thick splinters of wood still held the iron ring and he pried and twisted the hardware out of the wrecked board.

With his disconnected chains gathered in his hands, he glanced around cautiously. The cool blue auras of advancing rys riders brightened the dark fields. Magical fires emblazoned their exposed knives as they charged up the hill like the ghosts of the bravest cavalrymen given flesh again for one last important battle.

Near Cevlead, a rys soldier on a white horse leaped a low fence. The horse’s long mane and tail streaked through the air in the strange glow of its rider. Cevlead yelled to the soldier, but the rys did not acknowledge him, nor did the two rys who followed immediately after him. The line of soldiers that opposed them was parted by a shimmering blast of battle magic. Men yelled and fell away in burning pain.

Cevlead saw more rys soldiers penetrating the village at other points but none of them seemed interested in him.

"Cevlead!"

Although Cevlead recognized the western accent in the urgent whisper, he still crouched nervously. He glimpsed a black shape moving around the wagon.

Seeing the broken board, Faychan said, "Good!"

A dark set of sparkling eyes revealed a figure with a black-painted face. Although startled, Cevlead was glad for the visit from Dreibrand’s foreign counselor.

"Move fast," Faychan said and looked around quickly. The long black cape that encased him swished softly around his coiled body. 

Cevlead lowered himself carefully out of the wagon.

 Throughout the village, chaos was spreading rapidly. The hard assault by the rys had no apparent strategy to the Atrophane soldiers. The rys attacked one group and then disengaged and chased another group of soldiers. Fear of rys magic unnerved trained men, fires seized a few tents and cottages, and villagers fled in terror.

For a moment, Faychan watched the mayhem unfold, as if mesmerized by a rare beauty. He was not shaken from his thoughts until a squad of Atrophane soldiers yelled and rushed toward him.

"Run!" Faychan ordered and sprang away.

Cevlead hobbled a few painful strides before calling for help. "My foot is broken," he explained.

Faychan turned and took in the sight of Cevlead, crippled, chains hanging from his arms, and dogged by a dozen soldiers. With a groan, Faychan resigned himself to the effort that would be required to defend his limping charge. Cevlead hobbled past him, and Faychan awaited the onslaught of the soldiers without moving. With his body swathed in a large cape, Faychan appeared like a shapeless target dummy, and his opponents did not recognize his ominous confidence.

When a spear flew at him, he burst into action like a storm wind smacking a haystack. Two sabers flashed out of his flowing cape. He lifted their crossed blades, caught the spearhead in front of his face, and deflected it over his head. The first soldier to reach Faychan thrust at him with a spear. Faychan knocked it aside with a sweeping kick, and, as he brought his foot down, he used the spring in the spear shaft beneath his foot to launch his next kick, which caught another soldier across the chin.

Because he was only one man, half of the group could not even reach him in the close hand-to-hand to fight. Faychan’s twin sabers outmatched the artless hacking of the soldiers, and dying men began to fall away from him.

Pressed hard from all sides, Faychan added more weapons to his fight. He plunged his sabers into the bodies of two men and released the blades that stuck out from their torsos. Before the victims could tumble in death, Faychan brought two knives out from his belt. He threw one and caught his nearest opponent in the throat, spun around, threw the second knife into the thigh of another man, and then plucked his sabers from the falling bodies. The long blades started slashing again. The man with the knife in the thigh died on one saber as Faychan steered a spear aside with his other saber.

The next line of soldiers hesitated after this performance. Faychan grinned hungrily. His white teeth flashed on his charcoal-smeared face, and he charged them.

Three other soldiers had chosen Cevlead as an easier target, and he hopped within the circle of their probing weapons. He spun the iron ring and padlock on the end of his chains and kept back their initial advance. Then one soldier lunged at him with a spear, and Cevlead swung his chains at it. The chains wrapped the spear shaft and he yanked it from the soldier’s hand, but Cevlead could not keep his balance with a broken foot. He fell on his back, and the other two soldiers dove at him with a spear and a sword. Cevlead grabbed the spear entangled in his chains and blocked both attacks with the shaft.

From his position on the ground, he then hit one soldier across the shins with the spear shaft and grabbed one of his ankles. Empowered by desperation, Cevlead tackled the man, flopped on top of him, and smashed his face with the iron ring that he clutched in his hand. Cevlead grimaced as the iron crunched the man’s nose and front teeth in a spray of blood, but, too afraid of the next attack to linger over what he had done, Cevlead rolled away from the disfigured and stunned soldier.

Bracing himself against the pain, Cevlead pushed himself off his hands and knees and got to his feet. He reacted to the sword slashing at his torso with impressive speed and stymied the blade with his chains. Cevlead punched the soldier in the face and skinned his knuckles on a cheek guard of the soldier’s helmet.

Cevlead stumbled a couple painful steps away and hopped around to face his opponents again. Instead of starting another chancy struggle, Cevlead watched Faychan dispatch the last two soldiers. One of his sabers was missing and Faychan parried the combined blows from the two men with one saber in a rapid blur of chiming steel. After a dizzying exchange, Faychan broke through the defense of one soldier, stabbed his torso, and in the next instant, drew another sword from his belt and beheaded the other soldier with one efficient swing.

With bodies in his wake, Faychan ended his deadly dance. Breathing raggedly, he flung his saber to the ground. Behind him, a few men who were only wounded crawled away.

"They made me use my good sword," he said in his native language and slid his enchanted sword back into its scabbard.

Stepping over the semi-conscious man whose face was smashed, Faychan said in Atrophaney, "You get one, Cevlead."

Stunned by the combat that he had just witnessed, Cevlead could not respond. He had believed Faychan to be an able warrior, but he had never guessed at the physical talent that the grumpy westerner who drank too much possessed.

Still breathing hard, Faychan stepped close to Cevlead and offered his shoulder. Cevlead put his arm around Faychan, who immediately set a fast pace away from the village. Cevlead hopped with as much speed as he could but he still had to use his bad foot about every third stride as Faychan pulled him rapidly across the fields.

Where the fields met the forest, Faychan had tethered two horses. He gladly transferred Cevlead to a horse that he could lean on.

"Thank you, Faychan. Thank you," Cevlead said with utter sincerity.

Holding his side, Faychan said, "I am too old for this."

Thrilled by the improvement of his situation, Cevlead inquired excitedly about Dreibrand’s status and whereabouts.

While Faychan retrieved a canteen from his gear, he explained that Dreibrand had escaped harm and was somewhere near Droxy. "We go to him soon," Faychan added and drank deeply from the canteen. Then he poked around the dark ground until he found his helmet by a tree. He had set it aside because its bulk had not suited his camouflaged creep into the village.

In the deep night of the forest, Cevlead heard the visor of Faychan’s helmet click into place.

Faychan mounted his horse and flung his cape over his shoulders. The warding crystals on his sword twinkled at his hip. "Get on horse. Wait here," he commanded.

"Where are you going?" Cevlead asked. He had a great desire to reunite with Dreibrand without delay.

"Rearden," Faychan answered and slapped the reins. His horse jumped away and Cevlead had to hold back the horse that he was leaning against. He imagined what Faychan had left unsaid regarding the Atrophaney officer. Unlike the soldiers who had died during his rescue, Cevlead did not pity Rearden for the fate that now stalked him.

Sparing his broken foot as much strain as possible, Cevlead pulled himself into the saddle. The horse, agitated by his anxiety and clinking chains, shifted away from him, but Cevlead clung to the saddle and swung his leg over the animal.

 Cevlead rode into the field where he could view the village. He was still close enough to the village to hear the shouting. Lines of infantry, riders, and wagons were visible passing one of the larger fires. Carfu’s force was leaving by the road and heading toward Droxy. The rys soldiers did not appear to be hindering Carfu’s withdrawal.

Eventually, the intense glow of rys eyes dotted the landscape as rys soldiers left the village and sped across the fields. They rushed by Cevlead and into the trees. Twigs snapped beneath wide hooves and suede pants squeaked against leather saddles. Faychan was among them, and a few rys soldiers slowed with him as he paused to collect Cevlead. Staying close to the rys, Cevlead and Faychan continued through the forest at the daring pace set by the rys soldiers. None of Carfu’s soldiers appeared to be pursuing them, and they crossed the road just ahead of Carfu’s force but did not turn for Droxy.

The long night of fear and violence finally relented, and the first tinge of dawn revealed the world again. After a rough ride up and down several thickly wooded gullies, Cevlead and Faychan emerged into more open mature forest where Dreibrand’s force of Atrophane and Nufalese warriors were moving cross country. News of their arrival flew rapidly up the human ranks and summoned Dreibrand, Parlim, Kashil, and Gulang back from the vanguard.

Faychan and Cevlead hurried ahead of the rys riders. The Atrophane soldiers who marched alongside them observed their passing thoughtfully. Cevlead’s disheveled state upset them because he had been abused at the hands of other Atrophane. And Faychan’s blackened face, streaked with sweat, hinted to them of the unsavory duties that had occupied him during the night. Soldiers averted their curious gazes when Faychan looked at them.

Pleasure renewed Dreibrand’s haggard face when he reunited with Cevlead and Faychan. "Cevlead, what a great relief to have you back," Dreibrand announced.  

"Thanks for noticing that I was missing," Cevlead said and smiled gratefully. He realized that Dreibrand could have abandoned him to captivity, and the rescue proved that Dreibrand truly valued him as a friend. 

"Of course I noticed," Dreibrand said.

Faychan reported with a ration of respect that he had found Cevlead impatient for freedom and already broken free of his chains. "But his foot is broken, and I almost had to carry him back," Faychan added.

Angry concern seized Dreibrand, and he quickly asked Cevlead if he had been purposefully hobbled. His cold tone indicated that if such an act had been done, any mercy that he was considering for Carfu would be stricken from his thoughts.

"No, no. I did it to myself," Cevlead said with embarrassment and explained the details.

Dreibrand grinned sympathetically and asked Gulang and Kashil to help him get Cevlead down. They set Cevlead on the ground, and he stretched his throbbing foot out in front of him. The boot would have to be cut off because of the swelling, but Cevlead decided to leave it on. With the soldiers marching by and Carfu’s force on the move, Cevlead could see that action was coming and the time of his treatment should wait. 

Dreibrand inquired about Cevlead’s bloody shirt.

"A little nick from Rearden," Cevlead said.

"Rearden," Dreibrand hissed and immediately sought Faychan’s eyes.

Faychan said that he had helped the rys locate Rearden, but they had claimed the right to punish him for the rys that he had slain. Rearden had not escaped their wrath. Falling silent, Faychan wiped his face with a rag and reflected that he had never seen common rys roused to such viciousness.  

"A shame he chose such a fate," Dreibrand murmured, but he regretted more the consequences of his leniency with Rearden. 

While Cevlead was tended, the rys gathered around Dreibrand, impatient for his attention. A rys named Bel Tef eased his horse closer. His face was scratched, and a bloody wound seeped on his left arm. He looked down at Dreibrand, who stood up and acknowledged him.

Using the common speech of the western peoples, Bel Tef said, "Lord Dreibrand, I am glad that your friend was saved. My comrades and I are satisfied by the deaths of those men who harmed rys. I think that these eastern people will think before acting against my kind again. We removed all men who were blocked from our minds by warding crystals but not our eyes. I took this from the body of your man Rearden." The rys raised the white crystal bracelet that had been Sandin Promentro’s warding. He held it as if it was a dead rat.

Dreibrand viewed the bracelet with shame instead of surprise. When he had returned to the Droxy base, he had discovered that the bracelet was missing and then realized that Rearden must have possessed it during the ambush. Before informing Parlim of the robbery, Dreibrand had questioned him carefully about the inspection and thereby determined to his personal satisfaction that Parlim had not been conspiring with Rearden. Parlim’s lapse had been to allow a group of Carfu’s men into the main building, but Dreibrand blamed himself for not instructing Parlim to guard his residence better. Amid his many concerns, Dreibrand had never considered the bracelet. It had just been a trophy stuffed in his bag, and nothing more. Ultimately he should have followed Faychan’s advice and not allowed the inspection at all. The unity that Dreibrand had hoped to inspire had instead given conflict an opportunity, and his only comfort was that the thief had overlooked other treasures when stealing the bracelet.

Bel Tef continued, "I realize that this was once in your possession, but in the interest of the rys, I confiscate it."

Chastened by his thoughtless mistake, Dreibrand said, "Bel Tef, I apologize for being such a careless keeper of that item. My bad judgment cost the lives of some of your kindred."

"We were aware you had this item," Bel Tef said. "We share your regret."

Dreibrand thought of Dey and wondered if the rys still lingered near death or had passed on already.

Sensing his sorrow, Bel Tef said, "I know you are upset by the loss of my comrades. And for that, we shall part in friendship, Dreibrand Veta. It is time my comrades and I returned to Jingten. The mountains of our birth beckon. Our journey with you has been educational. I wish you luck."

It was a terrible time for Dreibrand to lose his rys allies, but he did not ask them to stay. He knew that their service had been mostly inspired by Dey, whose demise had obviously reduced their interest in interacting with humans.

The rys soldiers started moving off, and Dreibrand quickly asked Bel Tef to deliver a message to Miranda. Dreibrand conveyed a few words of explanation, love, and pleadings for patience. Bel Tef nodded respectfully and promised that Miranda would hear every word as spoken.

As the rys left him, Dreibrand pictured Miranda in their distant home. After more than half a year, she would get only a few paltry words. He despised himself for not writing to her earlier, but for so long his course had been undecided and he had not known what to say.

Caging his heartache, he focused on the rising conflict. He told Parlim to finish placing their troops along the road. Then Dreibrand informed Faychan and Cevlead of his plans to let Carfu occupy Droxy and then siege him.

Kashil started working on Cevlead’s chains with a heavy chisel and hammer. Cevlead held his wrists patiently across a rock while Kashil split the bolts that held the manacles.

After a final sharp clang, the second manacle fell away. "Everyone in the Bosta Territory needs to be let out of chains sooner or later," Kashil said and chuckled darkly at his own observation.

Cevlead murmured his thanks and massaged his battered wrists. His brief encounter with captivity had instructed him harshly about the consequences of operating outside imperial authority.

Dreibrand gave Cevlead a hand getting up, and Gulang diverted a supply mule from the passing Atrophane force. The animal bore extra arms with which Cevlead could equip himself. Cevlead thoughtfully looked over the weapons that Gulang removed from the bundle.

"I understand if you need to rest, Cevlead," Dreibrand said when he noted Cevlead’s hesitation.

Despite pain and lack of sleep, Cevlead did not pause because of fatigue. The meaning behind his acceptance of the new weapon overwhelmed him. His decision to side with Dreibrand in the Wilderness had spilled over into factional fighting within the Empire, but the rewards of victory were too desirable for Cevlead to stop.

Having already learned that his freedom depended on fighting, Cevlead selected a sword and helmet.

"I tried to find a better way," Dreibrand said, sympathizing with his friend’s quiet torment.

Hefting the sword, Cevlead said, "We will win this way."

******

Carfu expected to be ambushed on his way to Droxy. The ease of his evacuation from the village disturbed him, and he suspected that Dreibrand wanted his forces stretched out on the road, exposed and shaken after the erratic rampage of the rys.

Despite the risk, Carfu wanted to reach the security of the Droxy base. He was expecting to be reinforced en route by Parlim, whose commander had departed in haste and promised to bring support. 

Carfu rode beside the covered wagons that conveyed Jevenia and her female servants. He had personally guarded her departure from the village, and he had noted how the coarse grasp of violent reality had cracked her fiery confidence. Her pleasure in his militaristic stance against Dreibrand had changed to fearful reliance on his strength.

Farther up the road, Hepsat and several riders had moved off to the shoulder. Carfu galloped forward to investigate what occupied his lieutenant and found that only one Bosta peasant woman engaged Hepsat and his aides.  

The Governor asked for a report, and Hepsat, after double checking a point with his translator, said, "My Lord Governor, this woman has brought us a message from Metchlan, the rebel."

"What it is?" Carfu pressed, more interested in the information than Hepsat’s disdain for the source.

"In the interest of continuing his negotiation with you, Metchlan sends you word that Dreibrand Veta means to trap you in Droxy. Parlim is completely on the side of Veta, and they are behind us, where they mean to hold the road against us," Hepsat explained.

Many realizations struck Carfu at once. He was gambling on Parlim’s professed loyalty. The absence of Parlim’s reinforcements already offered great cause for doubt, and Carfu’s familiarity with Dreibrand allowed him to believe what he heard.

"My Lord, you cannot possibly be thinking that this rebel’s message is truth," Hepsat scoffed.

The Governor narrowed his eyes in response to his lieutenant’s loose opinion of his judgment. "It’s the truth because that rebel probably wants us to fight each other, and damn it, such a tactic is the right thing for Dreibrand to do. He will cut us off from the Empire and have his way with it!" Carfu said. "Turn us around and prepare for battle, Lieutenant. We will withdraw from this valley and send for more troops from Holteppa."

******

The scouts that Dreibrand had sent to monitor Carfu returned too soon. Knowing that the fight was coming, Dreibrand pictured Carfu with his soldiers just out of sight within the green folds of land. Next to Dreibrand, noisy birds squawked in a tree, disputing the ownership of a prime nesting spot.

Carfu, it does not have to be this way, Dreibrand lamented, but sorrow could not delay his reaction.

The scouts reported that Carfu was coming up the road with his cavalry and his infantry were spreading off the road and moving up the hills. Dreibrand calmly questioned his scouts, gathering details and calculating his response. He ceased to ignore the dark fruit of his efforts and issued his orders to Parlim and Cevlead. They had the advantage of position and numbers. Carfu would not be allowed through.

Mounted on their horses, the three men tapped together their drawn swords.

"After Carfu and the diplomats realize they are cut off from the Empire, I expect that they will adopt a greater enthusiasm for my ideas," Dreibrand said, and Cevlead and Parlim saluted him before dispersing among the troops.

With men fanning out into the trees to engage the advancing infantry, Dreibrand and his Nufalese warriors rode down the road.

When Carfu’s force appeared, Dreibrand gave the order to charge. His horse bounded ahead like a racer from the starting line and horns bellowed through the woodland. Ambition and pride hardened Dreibrand’s will for battle, and he craved the clash that would give him victory.

His horse slowed. Automatically he urged the animal but it did not respond. The confines of a frustrating dream overtook his perception. With drooping eyes, he watched crookedly as all the horses and men staggered to a halt. Even the onslaught of his opponents stalled. The collective roar of rising battle faded to silence. His sword became heavy until he realized that it was his arm that had weakened. The swordpoint dipped toward the road and his head sagged. Then the sword slid from his hand and he stared at it lying in the dirt. The light in the warding crystal pulsed with the rhythm of his blood thudding in his frozen body. He retained only enough physical control to maintain his balance in the saddle.

What magic is this? he thought.

Dreibrand struggled mentally against the force that stymied his body. It made no sense that he was impaired. Not a single rys soldier possessed the skill to thwart him through the strong warding on his weapon.

Into the baffling quiet came soft footsteps on the road. The faint grind of soft leather on dirt whipped Dreibrand with uncertain excitement, but he could not lift his head to look. Soft pure light, kinder than good sunshine, filled Dreibrand’s vision.

"Dreibrand, there is no need for this battle."

He gasped at the sound of the voice, the beautiful voice. The soothing glow receded, and Dreibrand watched a blue hand grab his right forearm. Power flowed through his body, releasing his muscles and calling peace back into his heart.

Although free again to move, Dreibrand lifted only his eyes and beheld the torn face of Shan.

27. Ghosts of Old Allegiances

The scars on Shan’s face retold the story of his disfigured sanity. Memories of pain threatened Dreibrand with panic. He yanked his arm away from Shan and jumped off his sleepy horse. He bent to snatch up his sword, but his rising terror hindered his usual coordination and he stumbled onto his hands and knees.

"What do you want? Why are you here?" Dreibrand demanded, and he raised the shaking tip of his sword. He refused to be lulled by the comfort that the rys King poured over his soul.

"I have come to enforce your will upon the Atrophane," Shan replied in a distant voice.  His attention was fixed beyond Dreibrand, as if still searching for him in a crowd. The energy pulsing over Shan’s body was the color of blue sky meeting a blazing sunset.

The intense force of Shan’s mind flowing over Dreibrand assaulted his perception with overlapping images of branches, leaves, men, horses, wildflowers, weapons, faces, pebbles, insects. Dreibrand had to focus on Shan to anchor his senses. When his dizziness passed, he saw another figure walking up the road behind Shan.

The elusive female who Dreibrand had chased through many battles approached them. Her every step seemed to be guided by lovely music just beyond human hearing, but her hypnotic grace could not conquer Dreibrand’s aggression for his enemy. He assumed the mysterious spellcaster had seized control of Shan’s mind, and now she came to pluck his wits as she had done to Sandin. Dreibrand yelled, angered by the thought of sharing the same disgrace as Sandin.

Dreibrand sprang to his feet and stepped forward with his sword, intending to strike down her wondrous femininity.

"No," Shan said, and his word drove his magic like a hammer striking a nail. Dreibrand’s feet became rooted to the ground.

Pulled into the core of Shan’s great spell, Dreibrand glimpsed the numerous souls that Shan had corralled within his mind. The boot heel of Shan’s will pressed down on every man on the road and in the forest, and Dreibrand assumed that they had to be in terrible peril.

Alloi stopped next to Shan, and she met Dreibrand’s defiant gaze, but her glowing eyes conveyed no hostility, only enticing secrets of worlds long gone. Her loveliness eased Dreibrand’s terror, and, for the first time, he saw her without his anger. Her skin matched perfectly the mountainsides of Nufal that he had scaled for sport, and he ached for home.

Finally, his tired will simply collapsed into rudderless confusion, and Dreibrand cast down his eyes. He felt unworthy to look upon Alloi after desiring to hurt her.

As Dreibrand’s aggression tumbled into weak uncertainty, Shan released him and Dreibrand retracted his sword.

 Shan said, "Dreibrand, do not be afraid. I am here to help you."

Although Dreibrand had once counted on that promise, he feared how Shan might now fulfill it. Goaded by his responsibility to protect his loyal men even while aware of his complete vulnerability, Dreibrand shouted, "I do not want you to help!" He stepped back and struck his sword on the roadway, spraying dust and gravel. "Release my warriors from your magic."

Shan measured the void where love and loyalty had once resided within the brave human warrior. Dragged toward the emptiness, the mighty rys King choked on his guilt because he deserved Dreibrand’s bitterness. Forcing back the trust with his magic was pointless, and Shan could only avoid more shame by allowing Dreibrand his free will.

As the cause of the destroyed friendship, Alloi intervened. Using the Atrophane language perfectly, she said, "Lord Veta, I have surrendered to your King. I control neither him nor you. I will never again act as your enemy. I have come to set right what I have done to you and the Atrophane. I will end this war that I should not have started. I know that King Shan will release your warriors."

"Yes, Dreibrand, I will," Shan said, grateful for her support. "I have only taken control to stop this battle. When I remove my magic from your warriors, keep them still. I must go to your counterpart and make him stand down. I will arrange for your treaty negotiation."

The bond that Dreibrand had enjoyed with the rys King haunted him now, and his fear warned him not to listen to ghosts of old allegiances.

This could be some sick game, and Shan means to crush us all after we put on a good show for his amusement, Dreibrand thought.

Shan resisted speaking inside Dreibrand’s mind and granted him the courtesy of auditory speech. "Do you really believe that?" he asked.

"I do not have the luxury of probing the thoughts of others, Shan," Dreibrand said, finally speaking the rys’s name. "I can only guess at what you will do. Release my warriors from your magic."

The magical aura around Shan’s body diminished to a lesser glow. Shan sagged a small step backward as he removed his control from Dreibrand’s men. With thousands fewer souls within his grasp, the gluttonous thrill induced by using his power eased slightly.

Dreibrand looked around and saw his men lifting their heads and blinking their eyes. Seeing them shake off the heavy spell relieved Dreibrand from the sharpest sting of his panic.

Shan said, "Dreibrand, let me play the role here that we had originally planned. For the security of Nufal and your family, I know that you will let me help you."

Dreibrand stared at Shan, wanting to see his old friend, but a gulf of horror separated him from trusting the rys King.

"I suppose I cannot stop you," Dreibrand whispered.

The doubt that barricaded Dreibrand’s heart had not been breached by a few reassuring words, but Shan could not let his disappointment delay his larger purpose.

"Keep your men at ease. There will be no battle," Shan said. Without needing to confirm that Dreibrand would comply, he turned with Alloi and walked down the road toward Carfu’s force.

Parlim, Faychan, and Cevlead cautiously returned to Dreibrand’s side to seek his guidance. They had glimpsed the departing rys and tabre and did not know what was happening.

Dreibrand smashed the shock that was clogging his ability to function. He faced his supporters and shouted, "Stand down! Hold your places! Stop the attack."

His urgent commands were unnecessary. Even free of the spell, the warriors feared to advance. They were drifting back to their commanders and awaiting new instructions.

With considerable awe, Parlim said, "My Lord, was that the King of Jingten?"

Dreibrand answered that he was.

"Is he on our side?" Parlim asked.

"Let us hope," Dreibrand said.

******

Only when Carfu wondered if he were mad could he believe that he was sane. He could not move. No one moved around him. The deployed infantry had stopped. Horses stood as if asleep and riders did not lift their heads. A squirrel scampered across this static world, chattering in amusement at the inattentiveness of the larger animals, and then raced into the trees.

Reason allowed Carfu only one explanation: Rys magic thwarted the advance of his troops, but he had never imagined creatures of the world possessing such sweeping powers. Such was the work of Gods, not the beings of flesh that he had seen at the negotiation. 

For what seemed to him to be a long time, Carfu contemplated his helplessness. His wealth and rank did not matter now, and he could not conceive of any future, except to dread his enslavement.

Shan and Alloi appeared on the road, moving serenely through the immobile fighters like priests crossing a cemetery. When Carfu saw them, he could feel in his heart that they were the mightiest of their kind.

When the spell that locked his body slipped away, Carfu derived no courage from his freedom. Terrified that some hideous work of magic would claim his life, Carfu jumped from his stalled mount and ran. He returned to the wagons of the diplomats and sought Jevenia. Slumped uncomfortably between her two serving women, Jevenia raised a limp hand toward him.

"Jevenia, can you get up? We must not stay here," Carfu said. He clambered into the wagon and massaged her arm and shoulder. Jevenia desperately wanted to move, but her mind could not overcome the unseen force that oppressed her body.  

Carfu pulled her arms around his neck and carried her out of the wagon. He tried to set her on her feet, but her legs buckled. With his arms still around her, he sank to his knees with her and looked around anxiously. The relaxed poses of the infantrymen and their staring eyes made them appear as a mural painting of themselves. Every detail remained, except motion.

Shan and Alloi continued toward Carfu without changing their pace. Carfu wanted to flee, but his pride as a noble and a career officer would not let him abandon Jevenia or his command. Lacking the means to oppose the threatening creatures, Carfu wondered if he had been released from paralysis so that the rys and tabre could chase him as part of a cruel sport. The horrible thought supplied Carfu with the strength to face his fear. He would not be chased around like the human rabbit that he had become.

Finally, Carfu understood the supremacy of the creatures who had broken the hard will of Lord Kwan. Armies were useless, bodies were unreliable, and a man could not even bother to call upon the Gods when rys demanded submission.

Keeping hold of Jevenia’s hand, Carfu stood up straight and awaited Shan and Alloi. They stopped about three paces away from him. Energy glittered among the crystals on the rys King’s armor, and his long white hair framed a face battered by hardship but not weakened by it. The obvious power of the rys King amazed Carfu, who realized that it was not raw power but mastered power. Then Carfu looked upon Alloi, and her unique beauty made him believe that any man would love to serve her.

Who was I to tell Sandin not to follow this creature? Carfu thought. Already her glowing eyes, white like diamonds in snow, promised him dreams of joy. Carfu craved the relief from his terror, but he resisted her.

"You are Carfu of Clan Anglair," Alloi said. "I saw you many times in the mind of Sandin Promentro."

Pained by her intimate intrusion into their relationship, Carfu dared to judge the creature who had led Sandin to ruin. "You got my friend killed," Carfu said.

Alloi respected his outrage in the face of her power. "Yes, Carfu Anglair. My brother and I scrubbed from Sandin’s mind his reasonable plans and inflamed his hatred for the rys. Oh yes, it was there. And we used his authority to bring to us the human army of your Empire. I know that I can never truly make up for the destruction that I have brought to your people, but I will end this conflict that I have created. You will negotiate in good faith with the human lord of Nufal," she said.

"And is Dreibrand Veta the human lord of Nufal?" Carfu asked.

Shan replied, and Carfu tensed even more when he spoke. "Yes. I am the King of Jingten and I gave Dreibrand title to the entirety of the Wilderness. That land known as Nufal has been claimed by rys for centuries, and I alone possess the authority to choose the human leadership of that place. And I have chosen Dreibrand Veta and all his descendants as my favored stewards of that land." For dramatic effect, Shan waved his hand and the people around him began to stir as he lifted his spell. "As you see, Carfu Anglair, my power is wherever and however I choose for it to be."

Carfu watched his soldiers return to activity, but their movements remained sluggish and uncertain.

Shan commanded, "Tell your men to stand down. I have stopped your opponents. There will be no battle."

Jevenia stood up. Awe silenced her normally incautious tongue. She pressed close to Carfu and actually regretted her hostility toward Dreibrand. Apparently, the decision to attack a man befriended by rys was not a wise choice. She had seen Rearden’s stripped and slashed body earlier, and the imposing beings in front of her reinforced the lesson significantly.

Carfu shouted to his closest commander. He ordered an end to the attack and told the officer to relay the news to Hepsat. Unseen spells aided the mission of the commander as the calming force of Alloi’s mind drained the soldiers of the will to fight.

The diplomatic staff cowering within or behind the wagons began to emerge. Eddleket’s hat had fallen off and been trampled during the evacuation from the village, and his shiny sweaty pate peeked over a wagon. A fit of diplomatic mania overcame Eddleket when he saw the rys King.

"King Shan!" he sang with uninhibited enthusiasm as he abandoned his hiding place. "My good dear King of Jingten, how wonderful of you to visit the Empire."

Carfu observed the senior diplomat’s display with mild astonishment. Eddleket’s welcome was more appropriate for a childless aunt greeting an adored nephew than a cornered participant in a dangerous conflict.

Eddleket puffed up to Shan and bowed deeply. "I am so glad that you are here, King Shan. And oh, how wonderful that you have met Lady Alloi. It seems she has accepted your peace offer after all, maybe? I have been trying to tell the Governor that he must not start trouble with your soldiers."

"Yes, I have seen those who died last night," Shan said in a severe tone, and his upper lip twitched twice before he subdued his hideous anger.

Carfu could have slapped Eddleket for alluding to the rys who had died.

Shan slammed a gate against his harsh thoughts and continued, "Sir Eddleket, you shall direct your talents to writing a treaty. Tomorrow, the parties will convene to discuss their desires. There will be no quarrelling or maneuvering. I will sanction all that is reasonable. Two days hence, the treaty will be signed. I am sure that Lord Dreibrand will not ask for anything that the Atrophane Empire will not gladly agree to."

"What if he does?" Carfu blurted.

The Atrophane noble received the response in his mind.

"You are bold indeed to question me after all that has happened," Shan said.

Left to ponder the power that entered his mind as easily as a bee visited a fragrant open flower, Carfu did not ask his question again. He stated that he and the diplomats would meet Dreibrand and the Bostas at the established place outside of town.

Satisfied with the Governor’s sincerity, Shan said that he looked forward to a productive negotiation. Alloi then announced her intention to stay with Carfu until the next day. She had much to tell the imperial representatives about what had occurred during Sandin Promentro’s last days, and she wanted to express her deep desire to atone for the tragedies that she had inflicted upon the Empire.

For a moment, Shan suspected her motives, but he resisted the urge to restrict her activities.

"I will see you tomorrow," he whispered, and his willingness to trust her tamed her sorrow for one brief flicker of her tired existence.

When Shan headed up the road, soldiers parted fearfully from his path. Their knowledge of the cruel things he had done to other soldiers scalded his conscience.

Rys soldiers came out of the forest and gathered behind Shan as he returned to where Dreibrand waited with his warriors. When Shan approached Dreibrand, the men around him moved back, but Dreibrand faced Shan with the bravery that the rys King had always valued.

Trying to dispel the nervous atmosphere, Shan greeted Dreibrand casually, but Dreibrand did not return the courtesy. Enforcing a cold lack of interest in conversation, he waited silently to hear what Shan had come to tell him.

Shan realized that it was too soon to push for reconciliation, and he deemed it best to let his actions speak for him. As Shan explained the arrangements he had made for the treaty, Dreibrand acknowledged him with limited responses. And then, as if Shan were merely a useful clerk, Dreibrand informed him that he would be returning to the military base.

While watching Dreibrand leave, Shan was comforted by the presence of his own kind. The rys would always entrust him with their governance no matter what.

On the trip back to Droxy, Dreibrand did not think about the ugly battle that he had narrowly avoided. He felt no sense of relief about sparing Parlim, Cevlead, and the other Atrophane soldiers under his command the hard duty of starting a civil war. Dreibrand thought only about Shan. He wanted to pity the scars on the rys King’s face, but Dreibrand reminded himself that a monster had gotten what he deserved.

Dreibrand’s bold plans for reviving his status as an Atrophane noble were insignificant now. Shan had come, and Dreibrand dreaded the dismal prospect of being subjugated by Shan’s unpredictable whims.

Dreibrand considered his men riding behind him, following him. They relied on him to deal with the rys King, but after the horror of his experience on the plains of Nufal, Dreibrand doubted his courage to confront Shan for anyone’s benefit.

Faychan rode alongside Dreibrand, patient with the brooding silence of his lord, even though Dreibrand’s nearly despondent shock after his encounter with Shan concerned him.

When Droxy was in sight, Dreibrand finally made eye contact with Faychan and said, "I suppose you want to know what I think of him."

The elder mercenary nodded cautiously, for once disturbed by the subject of a conversation.

Dreibrand labored through his emotions and tried to make an objective analysis. "Shan seemed himself," he admitted with contempt for his hopeful words. "But I don’t know what that means to me anymore."

Faychan asked Dreibrand for details from his conversation with the rys King.

"I only know that Shan says he has come to fulfill our plans as we originally made them. I will return to negotiation as he has instructed. I did not ask any questions…I just can’t talk to him right now," Dreibrand explained, and silence truly seemed the safest course lest he provoke some bad humor in Shan.

Faychan supposed that he could not rush Dreibrand into interaction with the rys King. Faychan had certainly decided to keep his distance from Shan until he had observed more of the rys’s behavior.

"What is going on with the female?" Faychan asked. He shared in the consternation of the other Nufalese warriors about her arrival.

Although uncertain about her sincerity, Dreibrand replied that she had claimed to have surrendered to Shan.

Faychan pondered the information. Her surrender was plausible, but he had to agree with Dreibrand’s obvious skepticism. It was also plausible that the spellcasting female had somehow deluded Shan with her powers.

Having lived his whole life avoiding rys tempers, Faychan decided to hope for the best and attend to practical matters. "I should find Metchlan and inform him of the developments," he said.

The Bosta leader had slipped Dreibrand’s mind, where only the presence of Shan now held meaning. "Yes, please, Faychan, take care of things with him," Dreibrand said absently.

******

Metchlan occupied a neglected farmstead north of Droxy. The weedy fields served as pastures for the horses of his fighters, and the roomy log home provided a modest place for him to hold court.

The reports he had received at midday about the anticlimactic parting of Dreibrand and Carfu’s forces puzzled him. Metchlan worried that he had been too bold to send his message to Carfu. Betting on two Atrophane men to fight with each other at the provocation of a Bosta was risky, but Metchlan had calculated that the truth of his message would tip the odds in his favor.

He considered riding out to investigate the changing situation for himself, but years of rebellion had taught him patience. Relaxing in his hideouts usually served him best and the two sisters who resided in the farmstead offered a pleasant diversion.

Because Metchlan expected to be busy again soon, he indulged in a bath, which the women kindly filled for him. While his companion Tamzel left with one sister under the pretense of drawing more water from the well, the other sister stayed to pour rinse water for Metchlan and massage his shoulders.

Metchlan shut his eyes as she poured water over his head. He sighed beneath the streaming water that was perfect on the hot day, but then the woman cried out and dropped the pitcher. It hit Metchlan’s chest and splashed into the water. He sat up quickly, with water sloshing out of the tub, and was about to scold her sharply until he saw the darkened doorway.

Faychan stepped through the open door and surveyed the domestic scene before pushing up the visor of his helmet.

Metchlan wiped his wet bangs out of his face with one hand and met Faychan’s questioning look.

"Hello, Faychan," Metchlan said. "What news do you have?"

Faychan walked a few steps into the room. He pulled a stool up to Metchlan’s tub, swept his cape back, and seated himself.

"Get me a towel, woman," Metchlan barked.

The Bosta woman shoved a towel at him and retreated to the hearth without taking her eyes from Faychan.

Metchlan wiped his face and got out of the water. With one-handed dexterity, he secured the towel around his hips and ordered the woman to bring Faychan a drink. She served him a room temperature mug of homebrewed beer. For Faychan the beer’s only redeeming quality was alcohol, but that was sufficient for him to sip it halfway down.

As he expected, Metchlan grew impatient with his silence and started talking.

"Have you been with Dreibrand?" Metchlan asked.

Faychan nodded and drained his beer mug.

"Why did Carfu break off his attack?" Metchlan said.

The question prompted a sharp look from Faychan, and, for an instant, Metchlan appeared guilty. Faychan was certain of it. A career as a Masterspy had endowed him with a keen sense for secrets.

Faychan relaxed and explained that King Shan and Alloi had arrived and stopped the conflict. Negotiation was to resume on the next day, and Shan would support the treaty that Dreibrand wanted, which presumably was good news to Metchlan.

Metchlan laughed happily. Having the influence of the rys King default to the side of the Bostas because of Dreibrand’s connection with Shan delighted the rebel leader. In Metchlan’s opinion, the horrible things he had heard about the Atrophane campaign in the Wilderness made him admire Shan. Anyone who could crush the Atrophane so thoroughly scored high on Metchlan’s character test, and he definitely welcomed his speedy ascension to Governor of the Bosta Province.                

"Stay here tonight, Faychan, and celebrate with us," Metchlan invited.

A broad smile slowly brightened Faychan’s dirty face. "Yes. Celebrate," he said.

******

Dreibrand addressed his soldiers at the military base before dismissing them to barracks. The nervousness of the soldiers about Shan was tangible, and Dreibrand offered them reassurances that he privately doubted. He told them that the rys King had come with Alloi to spare them conflict. The great magical beings had made peace, and Shan was not seeking retribution from the Empire for the invasion of the Wilderness.

As when the Atrophane soldiers had accepted Dreibrand on the battlefield, the soldiers maintained their trust in his protection now. Many had seen the fearsome rys King speaking with Dreibrand, which illustrated that only Dreibrand could buffer them from Shan.

Dreibrand retired to his quarters. The saddlebags that he had grabbed in haste the night before, not expecting to return, he returned to their place at the foot of the bed. Sitting on the bed, he stared vacantly at the wall and slowly pulled off his gauntlets and helmet. He removed the jewelry case from a saddlebag and stretched out on the bed. He inspected Miranda’s gift, and, despite his deep misgivings about Shan, he was comforted by the possibility of going home.  

As exhaustion fuzzed his mind, he mumbled an imaginary conversation with Miranda. He asked her if she still believed that Shan was good. He supposed that she would say yes, and he wished that he could have her faith.  

At midnight, a knock on the door woke him up. He rolled over and groaned because he had slept in his armor and his sword hilt had been jabbing his hip.

"My Lord, you have a visitor."

Dreibrand recognized Parlim’s voice. After he unlatched the door, the lieutenant stepped inside with a lantern.

"My Lord, forgive the disturbance, but I thought that you would want to see who has come," Parlim explained. He lifted the lantern so that his Lord General could see the rys’s face.

"Dey!" Dreibrand shouted. He rushed into the hall to embrace his rys friend.

"Lord Dreibrand," Dey responded with a warm smile.

Dey seemed whole. The only thing different about him was the homespun Bosta shirt that covered his blue torso instead of his fine suede jacket.

"You are healed. By the Gods, even your rys comrades said you were going to die," Dreibrand said and ushered Dey into his room.

"I will leave you alone," Parlim said and set down the lantern.

Dreibrand continued, "Dey, I am so sorry about what happened. I was reckless to think that your rys mystique would be enough to prevent attack. I regret the loss of life and the blame for it is mine."

Dey sat down in the chair that Dreibrand pushed underneath him. "Lord Dreibrand, it was not you who killed them. And I was glad to defend you."

"Oh, Dey, thank the Gods that you are well," Dreibrand said. "Did Shan heal you?"
The question provoked a confused reaction from the rys. He ran a hand over his chest that had gushed with blood the night before. "Alloi healed me," he whispered as if still trying to accept the reality of it.

"You let her touch you?" Dreibrand said and pulled up a chair for himself.

"I was dying," Dey recalled. As he said the words, he saw again his vision of the Rysamand from high in the sky. The Jingten Valley nestled securely among the cold hard peaks had invited him home. "My friend, Gelezz, had stayed behind with me. He had just given me his promise that he would get my body back to Jingten because rys cannot bear the thought of burial anywhere else on Rystavalla. Then, Gelezz looked up with surprise. I saw Shan then. He intended to heal me, but the female, the dark one who was our enemy, appeared at his side. She asked to heal me as a gesture of peace to the rys. Her magic was wonderful. She is a very good healer."

Dreibrand pondered the incredible story. He had difficulty accepting the transition of Alloi from relentless attacker to the handmaiden of remorse. He asked Dey if he believed that her surrender and commitment to peace were sincere.

"Oh, yes," Dey said emphatically. "King Shan has truly taken her into his heart. He has forgiven her completely, and she has forsaken her hatred of rys. Trust me, Lord Dreibrand, the rys gathered to question our King extensively about her, and rys never question their leader. But we are satisfied that she is safe. And I pity her. I hate to think what it would be like to be the last rys in the world. I would want to die."

Dreibrand envied Dey’s confidence in his King’s decision and Alloi’s conversion.  

Dey leaned forward in his chair and spoke gently. "Lord Dreibrand, I suggest that you consider forgiving King Shan."

"Did Shan ask you to come here?" Dreibrand demanded defensively.

Dey shook his head. "No, but Lord Dreibrand, please listen. I know that our King hurt you, and it appalled all the rys as well. What happened in that battle made us all fear that Onja’s evil had returned to rule our world again. But still, my faith in King Shan remained because I believed in his kindness so intensely. My whole life changed when he became King. I believed that he would get well, and until then, I thought that I should help you in his place, as meager as my magic was. Please, Lord Dreibrand, our King suffers with guilt. Even though he is King, he cannot hide this. I can feel it. My comrades told me how you were with him today. In my opinion, your coldness is the last thing our King needs. He has recovered a great deal from the horror we all saw, but you should help him come back to us the rest of the way."

Dreibrand considered the wisdom of Dey’s suggestion. Harboring resentment about Shan’s awful mistake would not encourage good behavior from the volatile King.

"We all want our King to be as he was," Dey said.

Dreibrand suddenly wanted it as well, with intense longing, as a person might wish for a year to live again differently.

"Take me to him," Dreibrand said.

They galloped out of the military complex. Even at the late hour, many windows were lit throughout Droxy and many residents noted the swift passing of one man and one rys. Gossipy whispers easily guessed the identity of the man who rushed into the countryside.

When Dreibrand reached the rys encampment, Dey dropped back and Dreibrand proceeded into the heart of the quiet camp. Rys stood up as he passed them, and Dreibrand sensed the expectation around him. Strangely, only he could give their King the absolution that he needed. Rys, in general, never judged their leader. They followed the most powerful rys, and therefore, never truly ceased to be faithful.

Dreibrand dismounted and walked toward the campfire where a lone figure sat at the edge of the firelight. The warding crystals on Shan’s armor brightened when Dreibrand came close, and one point of blue light marked the rys’s face. Dreibrand stared at the darkness where Shan’s right eye should be shining and considered how Shan had suffered.

"Shan," Dreibrand whispered. "Where have you been?"

Softly, Shan explained that he had been wandering in the mountains with Alloi since the battle. After chasing her to the Quinsanomar, he had been unable to kill her. Her pathetic grief had returned pity to his mind. After that, he had hidden in the Wilderness, gripped by colossal shame.

"I am dangerous, Dreibrand," Shan concluded. He bowed his head and his enchanted crystals dimmed.

"You did not want to be," Dreibrand said, remembering how Shan had always pursued peaceful solutions before resorting to violence.

Shan carefully focused his memory on the battle and said, "I would have killed all those soldiers. I might have even locked them in stone as true Deamedron and left them to suffer. I thank you for stopping me."

The expression of gratitude softened the hard block of Dreibrand’s anger. Since that day, he had not considered that Shan might be appreciative of his interference. Caught in the maelstrom of anger and loss, Shan had been pushed beyond his moral restraint, and only a beloved and loyal friend could have recalled him. If Shan were evil, then he would not have had a friend to smother his wrath.

Shan continued, "All winter, I locked myself away from the world. I had decided that was the only way for me to avoid hurting anyone."

"What made you change your mind and come here?" Dreibrand asked.

Shan paused, and then he actually grinned. "Miranda straightened me out," he said.

"Miranda!" Dreibrand cried. "You have seen her?"
"Oh, yes. She sends her love and says that the children are well," Shan said.

Dreibrand’s emotions surged with happiness after hearing that his family was safe and healthy.

"What more did she have to say?" Dreibrand said, wanting to hear every word. His earlier refusal to ask Shan about home now puzzled him.

Shan related the content and circumstances of his conversation with Miranda, except that he edited the detail about flinging her to the ground.

"She did what?" Dreibrand cried after learning about her journey into the Rysamand.

Shan said, "Do not be distressed, Dreibrand. She was right to look for me. I needed help, and apparently so did you."
Dreibrand conceded that he needed help gaining a peaceful resolution to the situation. "I think I could have won if we kept fighting though," he said.

"But I sense that you do not want war," Shan said. The rys gestured for Dreibrand to sit next to him.

Dreibrand complied, and, as he re-entered the sanctuary of Shan’s friendship, he never wanted to be outside the inner circle of Shan’s power again.

With his symphonic voice that could set a child at ease, make a mother trust and a king beg for mercy, Shan said, "My friend, I apologize. I will never hurt you again, and I promise that such fury will never be directed at your family. I was so wrong. Every time I look back, I do not know how I could have done what I did to you. The memory even makes me hate my magic because it allowed me to hurt you. All I can say is that when Quylan died, I went mad. I wanted to hurt them, to hurt everybody. Dreibrand, I am so sorry." He spoke his apology as if he wanted to say it a thousand more times.

Dreibrand imagined what horrors he might commit if had to avenge Miranda’s death. He doubted that he would find any redemption in such a situation. "My King, please, I have no more need to hear you apologize. I forgive you," Dreibrand said.

Renewed by their reunion, they silently remembered other nights spent around fires in distant lands where their friendship had grown strong during other struggles.

A tingling started in Dreibrand’s hand and he took off his gauntlet. On his palm, the blue glow of rys magic shimmered over the scar. Shan opened his hand, and a luminescent blue line revealed the heretofore invisible scar on his palm.

Shan said, "When I think about what I did, I can feel all the pain I put in you."

Knowing how difficult that experience was to bear, Dreibrand imagined that his anger equaled Shan’s regret. He reached out and clasped Shan’s hand.

The rys did not cast a spell. They only shared the connection of two living beings, who both knew that it would be hard to start over. When Dreibrand let go, the blue glow was gone from their hands.

Dreibrand took off his other gauntlet and arranged the gloves over a knee. Trying to be casual, he moved onto a subject that friends would discuss. "Shan, I am told by Dey that you have taken Alloi into your heart. What does this mean?"

Shan closed his good eye as if ashamed of a great personal weakness. He searched for a good answer, but had only the truth to admit. "I love her. It is as if I was born to love her. I cannot look upon her and feel anything but love."

Dreibrand pictured Alloi in his mind, something he had rarely done, and he nodded. "I think that she has that effect on many people," he said.

"And that is why I love her," Shan said. "She is such a precious soul. Perhaps she is the last of her kind because no one, in this age or the last age, could summon the strength to hurt her. Yet, I feel so guilty. I admit that I never honestly tried to kill her. The war would have never included the Atrophane if only I had used my powers at a better and earlier time."

Dreibrand believed that both of them could have been more aggressive sooner, but he said, "Shan, it is not your way to act in haste, and even you cannot change the past."

"Alas no, and it is such an ugly past," Shan said. "Alloi has told me much of the Great War, but I prefer her descriptions of the ancient world before conflict spoiled it. I love picturing Nufal as it was, with beautiful cities, art, fertile fields, tabre and humans living on the same land. It was a marvelous civilization, and it is all gone except for Alloi."

Dreibrand recalled his vision for reviving Nufal, and, in consideration of his ambitions, he needed more confirmation that Alloi did not conceal undying resentment.

"Shan, do you really trust Alloi? She could be rousing Carfu’s soldiers against us right now," Dreibrand said.

"She is not," Shan said with certainty because he had been monitoring her since their parting. "I trust her, Dreibrand, truly."

Dreibrand recognized that Shan had used direct observation as the basis for his answer. "Tonight, you tested her?" he whispered.

The rys King would not admit to it. "Dreibrand, be not suspicious. Alloi has already given her apology to Miranda for attacking your settlement. Alloi regrets totally that she and her brother made war on us. She fully recognizes the settlers as the new people of Nufal and completely supports your efforts to live there," Shan said.

Dreibrand supposed that, except for remaining cautious, he could only accept Shan’s reassurances about Alloi. Her healing of Dey partially convinced Dreibrand of the sincerity of her surrender, but surrenders were not necessarily permanent things. 

"Dreibrand, what shall your treaty say?" Shan inquired.

With the return of Shan’s solid support, Dreibrand revisited his original plan to secure Nufal as his independent kingdom. The ability to do this, however, did not convince Dreibrand of the wisdom of doing it. Unforeseen imperial enemies could arise in the future, and even with Shan’s terrible powers publicly known, Dreibrand could not quite imagine that the vastness of Nufal would not tempt a future Atrophaney Lord General. Becoming an imperial province would gain Dreibrand some political security from attack and allow him to revive the House of Veta as a legitimate Atrophaney power. 

"I never want to kill soldiers in the service of the Atrophane Empire again," Dreibrand said and informed Shan of his plan to join the Empire.

28. Forswear All Vendettas

Jevenia flashed one more look of protest at Carfu before she dipped the pen into the ink. The night before as Eddleket and his staff had labored to produce the treaty in quadruplicate, Jevenia had insisted to Carfu that she would not sign it. One clause specifically stated that Clan Promentro recognized the outcome of Sandin’s duel with Dreibrand as legitimate. Her numerous refusals, however, had not caused the Governor to side with her. With his arms around her, Carfu had told Jevenia that she would sign the treaty and that she would do so with big flowery letters.

Jevenia wiped the pen’s excess ink on the lip of the ink bottle and put her sea blue eyes onto the dreaded document. Paperweights secured the documents to the four little writing desks set up on the hilltop. The breeze picked up and rattled beneath the parchment.

Her pen connected with the bare area at the bottom of the document. The faint scratch of the ink-laden point against the treaty was loud to her ears. As the ink created her prestigious name, the disgrace of being the first to sign the treaty slapped her pride. Because a primary portion of the settlement revolved around what was essentially a Clan Promentro-House of Veta conflict, Jevenia had to sign first, which signified her acquiescence to Veta’s terms.

She finished her name and put the pen in its holder. Three more copies of the treaty waited, and she moved on to them. She was keenly aware of the public attention directed at her action. The dignitaries of the various parties occupied the hilltop, and thousands of people filled the surrounding fields. White and brown peasant clothes, blue uniforms, glinting helmets, and waving flags mixed upon the pastures where Bosta fighters, Nufalese warriors, rys soldiers, Atrophane soldiers, Droxy residents, and Bostas from surrounding villages had collected to observe the historic occasion. The news of the appearance of King Shan had traveled the land with tireless speed, and some spectators had arrived that morning from as far away as across the river.

All of them looked up the hill as the treaty became reality. Even while enduring such exposure, Jevenia regretted more that her Clan elders, the Darmar, and the entire Derataem would read her name on the treaty.

As she reached the fourth copy, Faychan moved toward the first desk, and his presence added to Jevenia’s resentment. On top of capitulating to the House of Veta, she was being forced to sign a treaty that elevated a barbarian to an elite position. Her humiliation was complete.

Jevenia resisted the urge to fling the fourth pen to the ground. She put it in its holder gently and walked back to her place next to Carfu with her head held high.

Faychan took up the first pen with an eagerness that contrasted obviously to Jevenia’s reluctance. He swished the point in the ink, playing with the liquid, and then he lifted the pen over the treaty with a flourish. Faychan liked what he was about to do. Although he anticipated a few difficulties in his new environment, he had complete confidence in himself. After his ignominious fall in the west, the east felt easy. Faychan looked forward to his retirement as a potentate.

After Faychan gladly went through the four copies and applied his signature, Carfu stepped forward. Now that it was his turn to sign, he sympathized more with Jevenia’s disgust. The act that he was about to do betrayed his long friendship with Sandin Promentro. But when Carfu glanced toward King Shan, who stood next to Dreibrand, his personal problems became petty. The grip of Shan’s magic had impressed upon Carfu the limitations of his human existence.

I have been far more fortunate than Lord Kwan or Sandin in my experiences with rys. I shall keep it that way, Carfu thought.

Moving up to the first desk, Carfu picked up the pen. Before dipping it into the ink that would allow his name to make history, he looked directly at Dreibrand. With resentment, Carfu recognized that Dreibrand was the stronger bolder lord. Carfu had always known it to be true. He remembered when the brash young Dreibrand had been Lord Kwan’s newest officer. Dreibrand had strained against his censure, and his deeds on the battlefield had won much favor from Lord Kwan. Sandin had been right to feel threatened. Dreibrand had wanted it all and now he had it.

The gaze that Dreibrand returned to Carfu was patient. He had won and he could allow the Governor of Phemnalang a moment to reflect on the endorsement that he was about to make. Carfu’s signature would bear the most weight when the Darmar and the Derataem read the term that stated the censure was over. Carfu planned to adhere to the term as well. His sorrow over Sandin’s death did not negate the fact that Dreibrand presented the Empire with a tremendous amount of territory.

And Carfu conceded that Dreibrand did not necessarily have to ask for the censure to be removed. With Shan at his side, Dreibrand could conceivably sweep away all opposition, go to Atrophane, and seize total power. Considering such an alternative, Carfu could sanction Dreibrand as the Atrophane Lord of the Wilderness and he would sign the generous treaty that Dreibrand so politely demanded. With this one document, the size of the Empire was nearly doubled, and the entire Atrophane society could bask in the true achievement of its cultural destiny. The world east of the Rysamand belonged to Atrophane. Carfu could gladly put his name to that.

He nodded to Dreibrand, indicating his respect, and then he began to sign. As he progressed through the copies, he wished that Shan would sign the treaty as well. Eddleket had gently asked the rys King about it, but Shan had reminded the diplomat that the last time he had sent a signed document to Atrophane representatives, it had been destroyed. The King of Jingten did not place his name in writing to have it disposed of.

Carfu anticipated his difficulties convincing the Darmar and the Derataem that, even without Shan’s signature, the treaty had very much been dictated by the rys monarch.

Carfu supposed that Shan would reserve for Dreibrand the privilege of obtaining Jingten’s formal acknowledgement of the Atrophane Empire’s new border.

After finishing his signature on the fourth copy, Carfu said, "Lord Dreibrand Veta, this historic agreement awaits only your name, and your domain of Nufal shall be joined with the greatness of the Atrophane Empire."

Dreibrand uncrossed his arms and came forward. As he and Carfu were about to pass each other, they stopped. Carfu locked eyes with the man who had killed his friend and stolen his glory. "You could have never achieved this without the rys," he hissed.

"Pray to the Gods you never have to find out what I can do without the rys," Dreibrand warned. "I would have forced this treaty by conventional means."

Carfu’s nostrils flared. He had been willing to meet Dreibrand in battle, but in retrospect, he was glad that the fight had not occurred. Carfu said, "I will not bother you, Dreibrand. You stay in Nufal, and I will stay in Phemnalang, and I shall be content."

"Very well," Dreibrand said.

"Sign your treaty," Carfu said and stalked toward Jevenia.

The terse command riled Dreibrand slightly, but today was about civilized coexistence, and he restrained his temper. When Dreibrand lifted the first pen to begin the signing, the attention of the audience pressed on him. To the Bostas, he was the bringer of peace on good terms if not independence. To the Atrophane, he was the Empire’s newest Governor of its largest province. And to the Nufalese, his loyal followers, he remained their lord.

Much as Jevenia had done, he lingered over the parchment. He weighed his options again. He could just throw the treaty into a pile of horse apples and say that he had changed his mind.

Do I really want to do this? What will Miranda and Tytido say? Dreibrand took the time to go over the nagging questions again. While Dreibrand stared intently at the document, Cevlead adjusted his crutch and started to fidget.

Ultimately, Dreibrand soothed his ego by assuring himself that if the Empire bothered him, he could always exert the independence of Nufal. Great distance gave him great autonomy and it always would.

This bargain will almost certainly revoke my censure, and I owe that to my parents who still live in Atrophane and to my children, he decided. He imagined his parents’ surprise at his success, but he doubted that they would ever forgive him for the loss of Atarek.

Dreibrand brought the pen closer to the treaty. As the dictator of the treaty’s terms, he had the privilege of singing last, and he perused the names drying on the document.

When looking over the western characters that Faychan had written, Dreibrand noted that they did not say Faychan. He looked up sharply at his associate.

Faychan smiled back, guessing the reason for Dreibrand’s questioning expression.

Dreibrand slowly returned his attention to the treaty. He hoped that Faychan did not have any more surprises for him today. In the morning, as the dignitaries had gathered for the treaty signing, Faychan had shown up with a cadre of Bosta fighters, but Metchlan had been conspicuously absent. Fearing that the Bosta leader was backing out of the agreement, even though it declared him Governor of the Bosta Province, Dreibrand had immediately inquired about Metchlan.

The conversation replayed in Dreibrand’s mind.

"Metchlan fell down," Faychan answered.

"What?" Dreibrand asked with naive confusion.

"And he will not be getting back up," Faychan added.

As Dreibrand realized what Faychan meant, he wondered how it had happened. Had it been a knife in the back? In the front? Poison? Had Faychan convinced another Bosta to do it?

With the crowd of onlookers growing, Dreibrand did not ask for details. He accepted what Faychan had done. Dreibrand supposed that it had only been a matter of time before Faychan acted independently, and Dreibrand counted himself as fortunate that he had not been the target of Faychan’s plot.

"Then who will be Governor of this stupid territory?" Dreibrand demanded.

"Me," Faychan declared.

"I had no idea," Dreibrand said, knowing that his surprise showed on his face.

"I guess I forgot to mention it," Faychan said playfully. "The idea came over me gradually. The winter is mild here. I think this might be a pleasant climate for an old man. And well, Dreibrand, I did it for you as well. Metchlan was not trustworthy. He would have started fighting the Atrophane at his soonest convenience."

"Did he tell you this?" Dreibrand asked.

"No, but I know the type," Faychan said casually.

Keeping his voice low even though he already used the western language, Dreibrand asked about the Bosta rebels. It seemed likely that the assassination of their popular leader would upset them. Faychan explained that he had been manipulating the loyalties of many rebel lieutenants for months. As a rule, rebels tended to be contentious with each other and vulnerable to new ideas when it came time to cut up the pie.

Beaming with personal pride, Faychan offered a detail about his rise to power. "I told them that Metchlan had won concessions from the Atrophane by promising to make examples of his lieutenants after he became Governor. They would be imprisoned and then executed as political criminals in order to discourage future rebellions."

"And they believed you?" Dreibrand wondered. Metchlan had been so vehemently anti-Atrophane that the likelihood that he would betray his comrades to the political demands of imperial justice was almost ludicrous.

"A few of them," Faychan said, even a little amazed at the gullibility of some people. "But for the most part, the Bosta fighters see my power and closeness with the rys. I even speak the rys language. Many Bostas see me as the leader who can align them with the power of Jingten. That is the alliance that interests them. Like Nufal, they see it as a way to always curtail imperial abuses."

These people obviously know nothing of your history with Shan, Dreibrand thought, but it did not matter. The Bostas would know what Faychan told them.

Dreibrand said, "You really want this territory?"

"Yes. I want to start over. And you should be glad to have someone as ruthless as me to guard the borders of Nufal from your countrymen," Faychan said.

Respectfully, Dreibrand said, "I am glad that we are friends, Faychan."

"As you should be, Dreibrand," Faychan said.

Although disturbed by Faychan’s ascension to Bosta leadership, Dreibrand appreciated that Faychan had seized a prize outside Nufal. "I better get your name on the treaty," Dreibrand said and ordered its alteration.

 Now, as he signed the treaty, he noticed the spots where Metchlan’s name had been crossed out, and Faychan’s name squeezed in. Dreibrand recalled Eddleket’s displeasure when he learned that the four copies of the treaty, which he and his staff had taken pains to draft without flaw, had to be edited at the last minute. Eddleket fussed as if he had been ordered to chop off a finger.

After Dreibrand finished the fourth copy, Eddleket came forward. Complete with its signatures, the terms of the treaty would be formally reviewed and then Eddleket would stamp the documents with his imperial seal.

Eddleket cleared his throat before beginning to read.  He was an accomplished public speaker, but the jiggle of his second chin detracted slightly from his stately image.

The senior diplomat read that the parties had agreed upon a six-month plan to end martial law in the Bosta Territory and elevate the region to a civil provincial government. Faychan was named provincial Governor. The territory of Nufal, commonly known as the Wilderness, would be admitted to the Atrophane Empire as a province. Dreibrand of the House of Veta was named provincial Governor. Both Governors agreed to collect imperial taxes, maintain imperial law, and militarily support the Atrophane Empire. Carfu Anglair, Governor of Phemnalang, would assume the title Lord General of the Atrophane military, by the leave of Dreibrand Veta, who had claimed the rank from Sandin Promentro through valid duel in the Galmonlay tradition.

When the senior diplomat reached the final article that specified the end of the Veta censure, Dreibrand held his breath. He remembered every hard moment from his life when the censure had dug into his self-esteem. Each insult, each instance of discrimination, each ambition stomped by official denial surfaced in his mind, and he transformed the thousand little pains into satisfaction.

Eddleket read, "With the endorsement of Carfu of Clan Anglair, Governor of Phemnalang, the diplomatic corps of his glory the Darmar Zemthute II, and the representative of Clan Promentro, Lady Jevenia, the Darmar is encouraged to end the censure against the House of Veta and direct the Derataem to vote in acceptance of this treaty and all its terms. Upon the complete lifting of censure from the House of Veta, the commitment of Lord Dreibrand Veta to add the territory of Nufal to the Atrophane Empire shall be fulfilled."

Dreibrand tingled from the triumph of achieving the dream that had driven his life since adolescence. Although the Darmar had yet to concur, Dreibrand had formally demanded the end of the censure, and he had the means to insure compliance. If the Atrophane ruling class did not grant his condition, then the Empire could not have the western land that beckoned the Atrophane civilization.

As Dreibrand experienced for the first time life free of censure, his grief consumed his elation. More than wealth, power, or any victory, Dreibrand wished that Atarek could share in the redemption of their family. Dreibrand recalled Atarek’s dying words when his brother thanked him for the brief respite from social disgrace. 

Feeling the freedom of his new status, Dreibrand understood more fully how Atarek had suffered. Atarek had been born to great prestige and had it torn away. Dreibrand should not have presumed to judge his brother so harshly for his lack of ambition. Atarek had experienced the devastation of his family, and the blow would have fallen hard on the mind of a young boy. Looking back, Dreibrand hated himself for the disregard he had shown Atarek. Only after Atarek had made the supreme effort to cross the world and find him, had Dreibrand valued properly their relationship. Too short had been their time as brothers united by a purpose.

Atarek, I did it. The House of Veta will come back stronger and wealthier than ever before, Dreibrand thought, but the message to his brother’s spirit only deepened Dreibrand’s sorrow. 

Eddleket called for final comments. Most people expected Jevenia to make an outburst, but Alloi stepped forward instead. She wore a new white dress, and her bare arms were dark against the fabric like the words on the treaty. Her white hair had grown longer, framing her lovely face in snowy curls.

Her voice was soft, like a birdsong crossing a meadow on a balmy day, but every person gathered around the hill heard her words. She said, "Atrophane, Bostas, people of Nufal, take this treaty into your hearts. Embrace now a future of peace and prosperity. Resist the greed and hatred that summons war, for war ultimately will reduce you to sorrows, such as I must endure. I am a tabre and war extinguished my entire race. Grief is too weak a word for the torment I feel as the last of my kind. A rage so ugly sickened my mind that I lashed my beloved homeland once more with the scourge of war. I attacked the very people who labor to revive Nufal from long silent ruin. I apologize to all those who suffered from my useless anger. I vow to promote only peaceful relations between all people and rys. I encourage humans to forswear all vendettas as I do mine."

A profound silence ensued after her speech, and then a few claps started throughout the crowd until genuine applause and cheers took hold. The breeze quickened through the oak trees atop the hill, and the flapping leaves complemented the beating hands.

As the celebratory clamor arose, Alloi walked past Shan and faced Dreibrand. For only his ears, she said, "Dreibrand Veta, you are not the only Nufalese who grieves for a lost brother."

Sympathy stirred in Dreibrand, and he regretted that they had been enemies. He hoped that they would never have to revert to conflict.   

Alloi smiled wistfully. It was good to know that fine people would renew her ravaged land. She returned to Shan’s side, and the closing ceremony of the treaty began. The cheering audience quieted so as not to delay the onset of the numerous feasts planned for the rest of the day. From the most common Bosta household to Shan’s high circle of friends, banquets awaiting joyous consumption.

Eddleket distributed copies of the treaties to each party. Although Shan had played no documented role in the agreement, Eddleket presented the rys King with a copy to signify imperial goodwill toward the wishes of the rys monarch. As Shan received the treaty, he openly praised Carfu, Jevenia, and Eddleket for their wise decisions concerning the operation of the Empire, and he looked forward to improved relations. The rys King’s magnanimous comments brightened Eddleket and consoled Carfu and Jevenia, whose goals had been dismissed.  

The presentation of flags completed the ceremony.

Dreibrand brought forth a folded Veta banner. Early that morning in the privacy of his room, he had carefully prepared the green fabric until each fold was crisp and correct.

"See that the flag of my House is once again raised over the Derataem," Dreibrand said as he handed his family’s banner to Carfu.

Carfu thought of several cruel remarks, but in consideration of Shan’s will, Carfu merely consented to the task. He entrusted the Veta banner to Eddleket’s supervision and then distributed imperial banners to Faychan and Dreibrand to fly over their respective provinces.

After accepting the flag of his native land, Dreibrand made an extraordinary gesture and saluted Carfu. "Thank you, Lord General," he said.

Unimpressed, Carfu said, "You do not mean it."

"Yet, it remains a fact of the treaty, and I will honor that," Dreibrand said and raised his eyebrows meaningfully.

Carfu caught the hint, and they parted without further words.

Although stymied and undermined by rys magic, Carfu understood that he would return from the frontier with a wonderful agreement. He could even transfer some of the brilliance of the generous treaty onto his reputation. Except for the end of Veta censure and the questionable installation of a barbarian over the imperium’s most untenable province, Carfu would be the bearer of very exciting and welcome news.

Deep down, he knew that he had Dreibrand to thank for the courtesy.

Dreibrand turned the thick triangle of black fabric over in his hands. He rubbed his thumb over the embroidered white chariot wheel.

Looking sideways toward Cevlead, he said, "I am going to have a lot of explaining to do when I get home."

"I am sure that you will convince the others of the wisdom of your choice," Cevlead encouraged.

Dreibrand tucked the folded flag under his arm. "At least I will be home," he said.

Faychan offered his congratulations to Dreibrand.

"Thank you, Governor," Dreibrand said.

Faychan laughed at the sarcastic way Dreibrand said his latest title. He lifted his folded flag and said, "I like being Atrophane."

Dreibrand groaned on behalf of his entire homeland. "They would not have given you that banner if they knew how little it meant to you," Dreibrand teased.

Faychan clutched the banner to his chest and proclaimed his devotion to the Dermer.

"Darmar," Cevlead corrected and rolled his eyes.

"I am sure that Faychan will learn quickly what he needs to know about his new position," Dreibrand said.

"Well, I am glad not to be a Bosta," Cevlead said, and then Dreibrand joked that after everything the Bostas had endured, they hardly deserved Faychan.

"Silence, both of you," Faychan scolded imperiously. He groped for the words to defend himself in Atrophaney, but he gave up and returned to a western language. "This place craves decent leadership. And I am ready for a new chance to be Overlord."

Beginning to recover from the surprise, Dreibrand was happy for his western friend. Faychan had been a powerful man for a long time. Losing his domain in the west and having to flee his homeland forever were difficult things to bear. Dreibrand preferred that Faychan pursue his ambitions for leadership outside the power structure of Nufal. It would make Tytido happier for one thing, and Dreibrand believed that Faychan would be as reliable an ally as he was likely to get.

Dreibrand offered him his hand to affirm their bond. He said, "Forgive our teasing, Faychan, or should I say—"

"No, no. Only my mother called me that," he insisted quickly and wagged a finger at Dreibrand.

"Very well, but I saw what you wrote on the treaty. Good luck, Governor Faychan, you are welcome to visit the halls of the Governor of Nufal at your leisure," Dreibrand said.

As they shook hands, Faychan drew Dreibrand closer for a conspiratorial whisper. "Good Governor of Nufal, because my vices have gone unsatisfied for many months, will you see that some supplies are purchased in the west and sent here before winter? You know what my favorite things are."

Dreibrand grinned. He expected Faychan to develop some new commercial interests for his Bosta Province. "It will be my treat this year, Faychan, as a thank you for your support," he said.

The topic of western imports roused a comment from Shan, who had been quietly observing as the humans congratulated each other. "I must insist that Faychan pays for his imports and pays too much," he said.

"My King should not allow such trifling matters to concern him," Faychan said and bowed to the rys.

"How about this trifling matter?" Shan said. "Exploiting my influence to cause your name to be inserted on a treaty where I did not expect it."

Dreibrand had wondered when Shan was going to mention the sudden demise of Metchlan, who actually deserved his post as leader of his people.

Faychan defended himself without faltering. As a high ranking Kezanada, he had experienced his share of uncomfortable conversations with rys monarchs. "My King, you judge me too harshly. Your benevolent intervention was indeed a fortuitous delight, but I had been planning my moves for some time. I do thank my King for his sanction though," Faychan said.

Shan scoffed, "I hardly sanction you, Faychan, but it will suffice that you will live far away from me. I am going home."

Faychan smiled as if the rys King had granted him a profound compliment. When he bowed again to Shan, he plotted how he would interpret the encounter for the Bostas who were observing. It was good to be excited for the future again. Faychan believed that he would prosper in the backwater of the Atrophane Empire, at least until new opportunities presented themselves.

Shan moved past his irritation with the western mercenary and asked, "Dreibrand, are you satisfied with the treaty that has been obtained for Nufal?"

"Yes, Shan, I am. And thank you. Thank you for everything. Your power has spared many people more sorrow," Dreibrand said. Then, with some effort, Dreibrand added, "Alloi, I thank you for your promotion of peace as well."

The tabre female looked down shyly. She possessed little desire to celebrate her reform. She had urged the humans toward peace, but she remained guilty of causing much damage.

Alloi accompanied her associates to their feast at the military complex. Although her words and magic had done much to mend the volatile situation, she sought no more praise or recognition during the celebration. She purposefully receded into the shadow of Shan’s greatness. He was the King of rys and humans, and the future was his. Her dark past and pointless existence had no place in the promise of a rising civilization.

Dreibrand received many congratulations well into the night. His Nufalese warriors toasted his success and predicted that Nufal would become the finest wealthiest province in all the Empire. Dreibrand also received from a few former Kezanada warriors requests to remain in the Bosta Province and resume serving Faychan. Although jealous, Dreibrand granted them leave to serve their old Overlord. He saw no benefit in ordering them back to Nufal if they did not want to be there. At least Gulang had not been among them, which pleased Dreibrand and probably irked Faychan.

When Kashil expressed his desire to remain in his homeland, Dreibrand was not surprised. Kashil, despite his humble origins, was becoming an able administrator, and he wanted to continue helping the Bostas toward a better existence. He certainly knew that his people needed a good influence.

As Kashil had anticipated, Dreibrand promised to set up an endowment of funds that Kashil could use where he saw the most need. While on the subject of promoting prosperity for the Bostas, Dreibrand sought Kashil’s opinion about the reaction of the locals to Metchlan’s demise.  

Kashil said, "I suspected that Faychan was up to something, but with all that was going on, I did not have much chance to consider things, Sir."

Kashil’s apparent indifference to the transfer of power puzzled Dreibrand.

"This must be startling to the Bostas as whole," Dreibrand said. Although he did not mind that Faychan was Governor, Dreibrand feared an uprising in the near future.

Kashil shrugged. "Many of the Bosta fighters endorse Faychan."

"This does not bother you?" Dreibrand pressed.

Kashil frowned thoughtfully before he responded, "Well, I do not want to be Governor, and I do not know anyone who does. And I did not like Metchlan. Other people did, but not me. I hate to say it, but maybe Faychan is the best man to govern here. Bostas are notoriously petty and small-minded."

Dreibrand had to laugh at Kashil’s relentless criticism of his own people. "Are you sure you want to stay?" he said.

"Yes, Lord Dreibrand. I can’t make things better here if I go back to Nufal. And this is where I belong," Kashil admitted.

Dreibrand wished him luck, and, after promises to stay in contact, they mingled in different directions through the party.

Between toasts, speeches, and courses of food, Dreibrand also sought out the Atrophane officers who had served him willingly during his short term as Lord General. Dreibrand encouraged them to be loyal to Carfu. Dreibrand assured them that Carfu would have more need of competent officers to maintain order in the western Empire than to punish them for serving the Lord of Nufal.

Parlim, however, could not shake his disappointment for the loss of his preferred leadership, and he expected that his career, and perhaps even his life, would be in danger.

Dreibrand took Parlim’s concerns very seriously. "Lieutenant Parlim, you have shown yourself to be my friend, beyond the necessity of your duty, and I will not forget that. If you fear that Carfu plots against you, send for my help immediately. And, of course, you are always welcome in Nufal," Dreibrand said.

Parlim was grateful for the promises of assistance.

Dreibrand offered the lieutenant one more encouraging comment. "Parlim, you adapted to my regime, and I suspect, that you will adapt to all that follow just as well."

Parlim smiled with a hint of guilt. He was rather skilled at taking care of himself.

29. The Time of Rejoining

Dreibrand marveled at the faint trail that caravans and armies had already etched into the sun-dried prairie. Only a few short years ago, the trackless Wilderness had consumed him and Miranda as rys magic drew them northwestward. Now the Wilderness was his imperial province, and he could not wait to tell her.

But long days in the saddle under the hot summer sun were between him and home. Until he reached Vetanium, he would have to find comfort in his triumph and the inspiring landscape of Nufal. The familiar mountain peaks that framed the wind-rippling silver-green grasslands renewed Dreibrand’s spirit. Although his blood was Atrophane, his heart beat for Nufal, and love for his motherland could not compete with the curvy temptress of the Wilderness, who had snared forever his affections.

Dreibrand’s reservations about joining the Empire lessened the farther he traveled toward his home. He had forsaken his independence in name only. Nufal would always be his. His allegiance to the distant Darmar and raising the imperial flag were merely gestures. The future settlers and peace that Dreibrand would gain far outweighed the inconvenience of humoring the Atrophane government.

And if another ambitious lord raised an army to bring into Nufal, Dreibrand would act to defend his authority. Nothing had really changed, except that he had reduced the risk of invasion. More delicate means of unseating him from power would be a likelier threat, but even that was an improvement.  

Dreibrand did not expect to be bothered by such troubles for a long time. Despite his lack of friendship with Carfu, the Governor of Phemnalang remained a practical man. Dreibrand had given him control of the military because he had not wanted to be bothered with the duties of Lord General, and Carfu knew it. Carfu had set out for Phemnalang as promptly as Dreibrand had prepared to return to Nufal. Technically, Carfu could have assigned a military garrison to Vetanium, but he saw no point in taking such an action. It would only give Dreibrand another opportunity to increase his influence upon the military.

Satisfied at last with his relationship with the Atrophane, Dreibrand focused on his long desired reunion with his family. His warriors shared in his excitement as well, and several dozen of them anticipated starting families because they had convinced Bosta women to travel to Nufal with them. Dreibrand was glad for those men who had found companionship during their long campaign, except that the extra wagons and supplies necessary for the newcomers slowed down the warriors. But Dreibrand could not begrudge them their happiness and he wanted to continue traveling as a group.

Shan did not mind the slower pace even though he and the other rys could have crossed the Wilderness in a shorter time. Shan recognized that every hasa farther that they traveled into Nufal bedeviled Alloi with grief, and he hoped that, if given enough time, she would turn to him for comfort.

Until then, Shan found joy in the harmony developing between the humans and the rys. In a way he had never seen before, the two races had grown accustomed to each other. Shan listened to the happy banter as humans and rys mixed freely around the campfires every night. They shared stories of their travels and anticipated the reactions of their friends in Nufal and Jingten to their tales.

The scene allowed Shan to revisit his vision for the future that had once occupied his mind so fully. He missed planning his renaissance and wondered at his earlier decision to abandon it because of shame for his mistakes.

Shan and Dreibrand, however, did not quickly mirror the friendliness of their subjects. Although they shared suppers at the same campfire every night, awkward silences marked the first weeks of travel. Dreibrand often found himself thinking about Shan’s episode of nightmare cruelty, and he had to actively push aside the memory. Although Dreibrand had honestly forgiven Shan, the sentiment required continuous effort, like rehabilitating a body broken by terrible injury.

Shan tried to help Dreibrand be comfortable. The rys initiated discussions about imperial politics or Dreibrand’s children, and Dreibrand appreciated the effort. The fact that Shan wanted to resuscitate their friendship showed the inherent quality of Shan’s character, and Dreibrand decided that they could achieve genuine reconciliation if he would simply be what he had been: Shan’s friend. Gradually more jokes were shared and chats stretched later into the evening until both of them could imagine the time when the lost ground of their love would be regained.

But when they approached the region of last year’s warfare, their moods darkened again. The beautiful land now showed signs of wear. An occasional horse skull or lost piece of gear crouched among the tall grasses. Mass graves, less than a year old, lay only a short distance to the west. So close to his brother’s resting place, Dreibrand had no appetite for food or company when they made camp that night.

He strolled away from the group and watched the sun set behind the Rysamand in a tremendous spray of orange and pink. As the shafts of daylight thinned, shades of lavender and indigo deepened over the grassland. A light breeze kicked up, and the rustle of maturing grasses mixed with the humming insects.

Dreibrand considered visiting Atarek’s grave the next morning, but Vetanium was only one day away in the opposite direction. After so much time bereft of his family, Dreibrand decided to go home first. Adding more time to his separation from his wife and children would not honor the dead.

Thinking of his children, Dreibrand almost decided to saddle his horse and push on through the night toward Vetanium. He restrained his impatience though. All the horses were badly worn down, and his homecoming would be sweeter if he took some rest.

Cevlead approached quietly. "You are almost home," he said, happy for his friend.

Dreibrand turned toward him. The knots of grief that had been tightening around his heart all day needed to be loosened, and he welcomed Cevlead’s intrusion. "We shall soon feast together in Vetanium, Cevlead," he said.

"I look forward to it. But I will not stay in Vetanium long," Cevlead said. "King Shan has given me leave to visit Jingten."

"So, you finally worked up the nerve to ask Shan if you could go," Dreibrand teased.

"Yeah," Cevlead said, embarrassed about how he had agonized about asking King Shan for permission to visit the rys city. Cevlead had initially wanted Dreibrand to ask for him because he feared that his service in Sandin’s invasion would damn him in the eyes of the rys King. But Dreibrand had insisted that Cevlead approach Shan with the request. In Dreibrand’s opinion, if Cevlead would be one of Nufal’s lords, he must not fear to speak with his King. And Shan was their King, no matter what they told the Darmar.

Cevlead continued, "You were right, Dreibrand. Shan was very gracious and granted me permission."

"I hope that Jingten lives up to your dreams. I am sure that your experience there will be far better than my first visit," Dreibrand said.

"I will tell you all about it when I get back. I plan to return to Vetanium by early autumn," Cevlead said. "Then I will head south and do some exploring around my new lakeside estate. How do you think Lake Fanlyre sounds?"

Dreibrand said that it sounded perfect.

Cevlead said, "After that, I will probably travel to Phemnalang. I want to update my Clan on my progress and recruit settlers."

"You might want to get a wife while you are down there," Dreibrand suggested.

Although shyly intrigued by the recommendation, Cevlead predicted, "Oh, I am sure that the noble families will line up to send one of their daughters into the dangerous wilds."

"Well, you should think about it. Now that you have resigned your military commission and will be settling down, you have no excuse not to think about a family. Making settlers is more fun than recruiting them," Dreibrand said.

Cevlead laughed. "I can guess what you have on your mind," he observed.

"My mind is on getting some rest," Dreibrand insisted with overplayed innocence.

******

Lounging alone by his campfire, Shan watched the same sunset but pondered the great peaks that blocked the descending sun instead of the beautiful colors. The mountains flanking the pass into the Jingten Valley beckoned Shan home to his high seat. He looked forward to resuming the construction of his half-built palace. He pictured a statue of Alloi in one of the new halls, but then he worried that the memory of her image would be all that accompanied him to Jingten.

As Shan had mended his bond with Dreibrand, Alloi had grown more distant. Shan missed her exclusive company that he had enjoyed while lurking all winter in the mountains, and he regretted his hesitation to display his affection when he had the chance. Now, she purposefully limited her time at his side, and Shan had no opportunity to express his love for her. She ceased to seek the refuge of his platonic embrace, and her full lips retreated from his admiring gaze.

Shan was ready to go home to Jingten and experiment with happiness again, but he felt helpless to include Alloi in a bright future. Tonight, like most nights since their return to Nufal, Shan watched her in his mind as she wandered alone on the plains, weeping and calling the names of dead tabre.

Blue fire burned in Shan’s good eye long after the embers of his campfire died. All night he watched Alloi visit the grim battleground that Dreibrand had considered from afar. She collected the chunks of stone that contained the remains of Tempet and piled the sharp-edged rocks into one sad cairn. Then she found her twin brother’s weapon. The metal handle of the bitaran stuck out of the dark rock that encased the deadly bludgeon. Her blazing white spell burned the rock off the sharp enchanted crystals. Smoke curled away from the cooling spikes and revealed again the twinkle of the weapon’s enchantments.

Fear crept into Shan’s mind like smoke backing out of a clogged chimney. He observed Alloi staring at the weapon and worried that she would lapse into a vengeful state. The bitaran had killed many rys, in this time and the past, and the enemy lives that had soaked into the enchantments might beckon her with the call of hate and violence. 

Through the dark hours before dawn, Shan hovered her position. Eventually, Alloi set the bitaran on top of the heap of rocks that represented her twin. She cast a spell and white light glowed over the rocks. The cairn began to sink into the ground, and when the light faded, only bare dirt marked Tempet’s grave. By next summer, plants would cover the ground and hide the remains of Nufal’s last tabre warrior.

Alloi wiped hot tears from her glowing eyes and began to walk back to the encampment of rys and humans. Shan ended his trance and hoped that, with her past buried, she would be willing to start a new life.

After the first pre-dawn twitter of a bird, Shan heard the Nufalese warriors stir. Dreibrand was the first to get up, and Shan smiled as his human friend hastily completed his morning routine.

When Dreibrand walked over to Shan, he said, "I plan to make it home tonight. You and all the rys are welcome to come to Vetanium. Otherwise, I guess I came to say goodbye."

Shan thanked him for the invitation but said it was time that the rys had their King at home.

Dreibrand easily identified with the reason and was about to commence with his farewell when something important crossed his mind. Looking around, he asked, "Where is Alloi?"

"She visited the battlefield last night. She is on her way back," Shan said.

"Where do you think she will go? Is she staying with you?" Dreibrand asked.

Shan said that he did not know, but he would talk to her about it.

Although Dreibrand knew that Shan loved Alloi, he had to address his concern. "Shan, if she wants to stay in Nufal, I do not dispute her right to live in her own homeland, but you must warn me if you think there is any threat left in her at all. I know you think she is fine, but I am not a rys King who can always afford to give someone a chance," he said.

"Yet, my bold human friend dares to give a rys King a second chance," Shan said.

Although sobered by the comparison, Dreibrand reminded Shan that Alloi had killed some of his people and set his own house on fire with his children inside it.

"I know, Dreibrand," Shan conceded sadly. "You are right to worry. Alloi needs more than human company. Alone, among the ruins of her ancient home, she might go mad. She needs to be with her own kind—with the rys."

"Are rys and tabre the same?" Dreibrand wondered.

"Essentially," Shan explained. "Of course, she is born of the Tabren, and we are born of the Rysamand, but we are more alike than different."

"Do you think she will stay with you?" Dreibrand asked again.

Shan replied, "I want her to live in Jingten with me. It is where she belongs now, but convincing her to come with me will be difficult."

"What if she refuses your invitation?" Dreibrand said.

Shan knew what Dreibrand was trying to get him to say. Their problem might be under control for the moment, but Dreibrand needed to know that their problem would stay under control. "I will see that she stays in my care," Shan said.

Satisfied that Shan would manage her, Dreibrand eagerly finished his business. "Shan, I will say it again. Thank you for making my Atrophane associates see reason," he said.

"You are welcome, Dreibrand. I have met many humans over the centuries, and you have been the most worthy of my support. You could have asked your Atrophane rivals to recognize you as an independent kingdom, but instead you chose the better way that will limit conflict instead of encourage it. And, Dreibrand, thank you for forgiving me. I know it was not easy for you," Shan said.

"Hating you was no easier, my King," Dreibrand whispered. He looked at Shan. The poorly knitted skin over his broken right eye did not detract from his fairness as much as it once had. Beyond the scars, Dreibrand could again see the handsome face of his glorious rys leader and friend.

Shan proposed that they have some breakfast together.

Trying to excuse himself gracefully, Dreibrand said, "Thanks, but I am anxious to go. I had a couple bites of ration while saddling my horse. I am sure you understand."

Shan scolded, "Eating while handling a horse. Not something an imperial Governor would do. At least stay and have a cup of tea with me."

Dreibrand wondered if Shan did not quite consider nine months away from home to be a long time. "I want to see my family, and I still have a lot of ground to cover," Dreibrand explained.

"Not so far to ride today, I think," Shan said playfully.

Dreibrand looked closely at the smile that bounced over Shan’s lips.

"Why?" Dreibrand demanded with happy suspicion.

Shan stopped toying with Dreibrand and said that he had contacted Miranda two days ago. "She, your family, and many people from the settlement are coming out to meet us. Before noon, we will connect," Shan said.

Dreibrand yelled happily and then actually tossed a hug around Shan.

"You have plenty of time for a nice leisurely breakfast," Shan said.

"I do not!" Dreibrand said emphatically. Then, as if he possessed rys powers, he suddenly knew with certainty that Miranda was riding ahead of her group to meet him. Before rushing off, Dreibrand said, "Shan you will come meet up with everyone? We can all celebrate tonight and you and the rys can head for home tomorrow."

"Of course, my friend," Shan said with laugh. "After all, I do have to report my progress to Miranda."

"Miranda," Dreibrand whispered and then he ran to his horse.

He shouted a hasty explanation for his departure to Cevlead and Gulang and galloped away across the dew-sparkling plains.

Once Gulang realized that Tiah would certainly be with Miranda, he dashed for his horse as well and left Cevlead holding a cold teapot.

"Maybe Dreibrand is right about that wife business," Cevlead muttered to himself.  

As the news spread that Shan had arranged for the settlers to come meet the returning warriors, water that had been put on to boil was poured out on the fires. Even the warriors who did not have wives or girlfriends were caught up in the excitement, and the entire camp of Nufalese warriors packed up and left. The rys proceeded at a more dignified pace.

Dreibrand maintained his headstart. He had no doubt that he traveled the correct course. He was on familiar ground and he knew the route that the settlers would be using. As his horse’s hooves thudded across the turf, Dreibrand scanned the rolling horizon. When he saw a few dark specks against the land, he urged his horse to run faster. The objects proved to be cattle, but they were his cattle, and Dreibrand rejoiced at the sight of the small herd.

Another form topped the next hill directly ahead of him. As Dreibrand discerned the single rider, he pressed closer to the neck of his horse and rode at top speed. He noted the other rider’s increase in speed.

A woman with curly light brown hair rode toward him. Only one woman in Vetanium had hair like that.

"Miranda!" Dreibrand shouted. He heard her yell back.

They jumped from their horses and ran toward each other. For months they had dreamed of seeing each other and holding each other, but when the moment came, they stopped a few paces apart and stared at each other. The joy of the reunion overwhelmed them. Great worry had added to the burden of separation, and the time of rejoining needed to be prolonged, if only to confirm the reality of the other’s presence. 

Even after happy years together, many passionate embraces, and two children, the length of their separation made them feel as if they were looking at each other for the first time. Desire and love flared anew and they rushed into each other’s arms. Their kisses came in long connections and quick bursts.

"You are home," Miranda sighed as Dreibrand kissed her neck and squeezed her butt.

Dreibrand finally detached himself from her soft skin. Her smell and every detail of her body rewarded him for all his efforts. His trials and sorrows ceased to trouble him so much now that he was with her.

"How are the children?" Dreibrand asked.

"Fine, Dreibrand, they are fine. They are with the others. Everyone has come from Vetanium, and I brought food and drink so we can all celebrate tonight on the open land," Miranda said.

Dreibrand chuckled and pretended to complain, "But I had really wanted to sleep in my own bed tonight."

Miranda’s smile faded because she feared that she had been inconsiderate of an important point.

Before she could take his comment too seriously, Dreibrand tightened his arms around her and said, "I suppose I can make do without my bed for a while longer." He scooped her left breast into his hand and then tugged loose the bow tied in the strings that held shut her shirt. Miranda kissed him hungrily, encouraging him until she heard another rider approaching.

"I think we are going to find ourselves in traffic," Miranda said, but she clung to him without inhibition.

Dreibrand watched Gulang approach and waved to him. Before Gulang could even ask, Miranda yelled that Tiah was waiting for him with the other settlers. Gulang whooped and galloped away. A few more warriors appeared on the horizon, following Gulang’s path.

Miranda sighed and kissed Dreibrand again. "We can go see the children now," she said since their chance for privacy had passed.

"As much as I want to, I think I want more time with just you, Miranda. I have missed you so much," Dreibrand said. "I know a nice place near here where we can be alone."

Miranda giggled and touched him in a stimulating way. She was not opposed to slipping away for the rest of the morning.

After another luscious kiss, they scrambled to their horses as if beginning a crucial race. Miranda followed Dreibrand to the east. He led her to a spring-fed pond surrounded by willows, and they spread a blanket in the cool moist shade.

Although the passion was building between them, they acted slightly shy now that their privacy had been secured. It had been a long time. Dreibrand removed the velvet case from his saddlebag and brought it to Miranda.

"I got you a present," Dreibrand said and gave it to her. As Miranda took the gift from his hands, he savored the formal renewal of their bond.

Facing each other, they kneeled on the blanket and Miranda opened the case. She had many more jewels than occasions to wear them, but her gift made her gasp with delight.

"What are they?" she asked.

"Pearls," Dreibrand answered and he leaned close to admire the glossy beads of irregular shapes that possessed just the perfect tint of pink. They came from the sea but looked like dawn on the snowy peaks of the Rysamand. Three spiraling strands of the precious pearls made the fine necklace.

Dreibrand continued, "Of all the wealth in Jingten, it remains the treasure of a landlocked realm. Along the Beldet Coast in Atrophane live a caste of men who dive deep into the sea to harvest the animals that produce the pearls."

"I have never heard of them," Miranda said. She lifted the necklace from the case. After she had admired the rosy beads, Dreibrand took the necklace from her and she held her hair up so he could put the pearls around her neck. As he hooked the clasp, he kissed her neck again. She exhaled with an enticing moan.

Dreibrand leaned over her and, with his hand on her lower back, eased her beneath him. Although delighted by her joyous playful touches, Dreibrand became very serious. He had never been hesitant to express his love to Miranda before, but he had rarely meant it so much as today. He stopped kissing her and looked into her eyes, her beautiful green eyes that ruled him.

"Miranda, I have been faithful to you," he said.

Miranda had believed that he would truly remain her husband during his long absence, but she had resolved to never ask.

Dreibrand smiled because he saw on her face how much his fidelity meant to her.

Miranda said, "I have not strayed either, Dreibrand."

They spoke no more words. Their clothes were cast off in a flurry of fabric, metal, and leather, and Dreibrand grasped her naked body with a fierce passion that was tempered by only the necessary amount of gentle love. As he ran his hands over her hips and then between her thighs, he thought about the first time that he had made love to her. The pleasure and the triumph of possessing her flesh had not lessened over the years.

Her soft cries of ecstasy and the clinging press of her torso and inner legs fueled his passion. Dreibrand’s moans and hungry words rewarded Miranda with the knowledge that she pleased him immensely. They joined several times, resting when necessary, arousing each other for the sheer joy of touching and pleasing. At last, after the sun climbed the sky and warmed the air, they relaxed into each other’s sweaty arms.

"How cold do you think this pond is?" Dreibrand said.

Miranda answered by getting up and walking to the bank. Dreibrand followed her, loving the glorious view of her naked body attended by shimmering dragonflies and clear water. The pond proved pleasant on the warm day, and they bathed and played in the water.

"I should have made you wash first," Miranda commented and added a playful splash.

Dreibrand laughed. He had been thoroughly travelworn, but his sweatiness had not impeded her desire. Clean now, they made love again. Although neither of them expected to tire of their embraces for weeks, they realized that they had taken enough time for themselves today.  The children needed to see their father.

Dreibrand walked around the pond to retrieve his horse that had wandered as it browsed on the soft willow shoots. He enjoyed the sensation of moving about naked on his land. He doubted that other imperial Governors enjoyed such intimacy with their provinces.

He removed the Atrophane flag from his saddlebag and brought it to Miranda, who posed suggestively on the blanket rumpled by their romping.

"I have something else for you to see," Dreibrand said and draped the black flag with its white horse and chariot over her torso.

The flag confused Miranda, and she sat up. She fingered the fabric and wondered what Dreibrand was doing.

"This is an Atrophane flag," she said and looked urgently into his eyes.

Dreibrand explained what he had done and the details of the treaty.

"We are part of the Empire!" she cried after processing what he said. Miranda held the flag away from her body.

Although glowing from sexual release and the joy of having Dreibrand home, she could not quite prevent herself from feeling dismayed. She thought of the Atrophane as the enemy.

"But Shan went to give you what you wanted. Why didn’t he do that?" Miranda demanded as if she would go confront the rys King about it immediately.

"Shan supported me in everything I wanted. This is what I wanted," Dreibrand said. He explained how it could foster peace, prosperity, settlement, and make him a legitimate power among his people. "Miranda, the Darmar must end the censure to finish this deal."

Knowing how much the censure bothered him, Miranda tried to understand him. "You always said you wanted your own kingdom. Are you sure this is what you want?" she asked.

Dreibrand looked down. He had expected Miranda to approve. "It is for the best. It will be good for us and the children. It will be good for my parents although the Gods must laugh that I care. And the best memorial I can give Atarek is to have our family powerful and respected again—as Atrophane."

When Dreibrand mentioned his brother, his posture hinted at the profound grief that burdened his existence. Miranda then recognized that Atarek’s death had changed Dreibrand. During their extensive lovemaking, she had noticed the newest scar on his chest. She presumed it was the stab wound that he had suffered while fighting Sandin.

Miranda put her hands on Dreibrand’s chest and studied the blunt scar where the blade had sunk dangerously close to his heart. The tragic loss of Atarek had cut deeper into Dreibrand’s soul than the weapon into his flesh. Miranda considered that perhaps her strong husband, her brave warrior, and ambitious lord had redefined his concept of victory.

"Dreibrand, I am so sorry about Atarek. I will do what I can to comfort you," she said.

"It is enough to be with you again," he said. "I have already suffered much from my grief. I am healing now, but…" He paused and then whispered to her about holding Atarek as he died.

"After that, I had to ask myself what would happen if I continued to confront the Empire. Would I see Deltane die in battle, or you? I wanted a peaceful solution. No more death," Dreibrand explained and shook his head as he envisioned his loved ones dying on a bloody battlefield.

Contemplating the awful possibilities, Miranda accepted the situation. With a brave smile, she looked at the tops of the Tabren Mountains peeking over the willows.

"It will not really change things for us, will it?" she said.

"No," he said readily and pushed away his fears of horrible ruin. "We are the rulers of Nufal and any who dispute us will not be tolerated. The Empire accepts that I possess all land rights in the Wilderness. The House of Veta has the most wealth and holds the most territory."

Miranda laughed, thrilled by the concept.

"You are a very important Atrophane noblewoman," Dreibrand added. He touched her new necklace. "Complete with your pearls. All Atrophane noblewomen have pearls."

They celebrated with a long kiss, but then Dreibrand admitted that they could encounter difficulties in the future. "Clan Promentro is very powerful, and I expect them to bother us eventually. We must be wary of their agents, who will sabotage our enterprises or even try to hurt our entire family. But they will not succeed, and Faychan will stay alert and warn me if he learns of any plots."

"Faychan," Miranda repeated. She was still grappling with the news that he was the Governor of the Bostas. "I guess it makes sense that he is in charge of the place that I hate."

Dreibrand chuckled. "He really took to the place. I like to think that he will be my permanent revenge on the Empire."

"Well, Tytido will be glad he is gone," Miranda said.

"How mad do you think Tytido will be about this?" Dreibrand asked.

After some consideration, Miranda replied, "Lydea will like it, so that means that eventually Tytido will like it."

"Oh, yeah, Lydea," Dreibrand said, recalling the havoc she inspired with his friend’s emotions and mind.

Miranda then reported that Lydea would give birth soon and started to rattle off other domestic news.

"Let us just go see everybody," Dreibrand suggested.  "You can tell me everything while we ride."

30. The New Spell

Even fragile souls persist in a hard world.

—ancient tabre proverb

 

The settlers cheered for Dreibrand when he arrived at their wagon encampment along a creek. Although the returning warriors and rys had already spread the news about the treaty, the people’s jubilance for the return of their lord overcame any concerns about their new imperial status. Miranda draped the Atrophane flag over her lap as she rode with Dreibrand among their people to symbolize her acceptance of his decision.

Dreibrand returned the happy greetings that were shouted at him. He especially commented when he spotted a warrior, who had been sent home wounded the year before but was now recovered.

When Sahleen waved from the crowd, Dreibrand knew his children would be with her. He jumped off his horse and ran toward her. Deltane and Esseldan shouted with boyish excitement and ran around several people to reach Dreibrand. He went down to his knees and caught the boys into his strong arms. He immediately noticed that they were bigger and heavier. Deltane and Esseldan hugged him fiercely and buried their faces against his chest, and for once, they were silent with joy. They had missed Dreibrand until they could not bear to think about missing him any longer, and then they had missed him again. Each boy in his own way had feared that their tall protector and teacher in the ways of being a man would never come back.

Dreibrand messed their hair with just enough vigor to get them to squeak. Then, he kissed Deltane on the cheek and told him how very glad he was to see him. Dreibrand indulged his stepson with the same treatment, and Esseldan smiled with appreciation.

"You were gone so long!" Deltane exclaimed. "Why, Father, why?"

"Didn’t your mother tell you?" Dreibrand said.

Deltane huffed and rolled his eyes. "Portant bizness," he said.

Dreibrand smiled at his son’s precious disregard for the explanation that had been meaningless to him. "Deltane, do you remember when I told you that our family was troubled in Atrophane?" he asked. After Deltane nodded, Dreibrand said, "Well, I fixed things. The House of Veta is much stronger now."

Deltane considered the news carefully. "But why did Uncle At-rek have to die?" he said.

When Dreibrand saw his son’s sorrow over the loss of his big fun uncle, the misery of Atarek’s death rampaged through Dreibrand’s chest. He shook his head because he had no answer.

"We will talk about that another time, Deltane," he said.

Dreibrand loosened his grip on the boys and looked up at Sahleen, who was trying to coax a shy little girl from behind her skirts. Dreibrand glimpsed the blonde curls of a toddler and he moved forward with the boys attached to his legs.

"That is your father. Say hello to your father," Sahleen said and guided the girl out of hiding.

Dreibrand squatted and reached out to her. His delight to see his daughter was absolute. Victoria was so beautiful. Her wispy curls were the color of summer sunshine on a golden beach, and her perfect face glowed with heavenly approval for her innocence.

My perfect Atrophane princess, Dreibrand thought.

Victoria looked Dreibrand up and down, but she did not register the armored warrior as a friendly figure. She turned so quickly to flee that her legs, so new to walking, failed her. Victoria fell on the grass and started crying.

Miranda, who had been happily watching her husband greet his children, rushed to pick up her daughter. Sahleen fluttered as Miranda stood the girl up.

The Temu nurse apologized, "Lord Dreibrand, I am sorry. She is scared."
When Dreibrand saw the fear of a stranger contort his little girl’s face, he fully regretted how long he had been away. Victoria’s first tentative steps in life had not included him, and she had no idea who he was.

Miranda soothed the girl and lifted her up. She flashed Dreibrand a sympathetic look and assured him that Victoria would like him soon enough.

While gesturing for him to come closer, Miranda admonished her girl in a sweet playful voice, "You used to like your father." After a few more reassurances, she transferred Victoria to her father’s arms.

Victoria sniffled and wriggled against his armored sleeves. Miranda kept an encouraging hand on her daughter’s back, and Victoria dared to look at the man holding her.

"Victoria, you are the most beautiful girl in the Empire," Dreibrand said. Recalling Atarek’s comment about her being a source of stress when she grew up, Dreibrand finally agreed. He wished his brother would be there to watch him suffer.

Dreibrand bounced and tickled his daughter until she finally rewarded him with a giggle. After Dreibrand kissed her soft forehead, she decided that she would get used to paternal attention in small doses. As soon as she started fussing, Miranda took her back.

Dreibrand switched his attention to Sahleen, who welcomed him home.

"It is good to see you, Sahleen," Dreibrand said generously. Then he surprised her, and Miranda, by giving her a hug.

"Oh, Lord Dreibrand, you have been gone long enough to miss even me," Sahleen joked because she knew that she had irritated him on many occasions.

Dreibrand laughed with her. "Well, I shall try not to be grumpy with you anymore. I know without asking how much you have helped my family while I was away, and I thank you," Dreibrand said.

Flustered by the praise, she looked down and murmured her thanks.

"Where is my hug?" a man demanded.

Dreibrand turned his head and saw Tytido grinning at him. He rushed to embrace his friend, and they exchanged several manly slaps and shoves.

"Where have you been hiding?" Dreibrand asked.

"Oh, I have been talking with Shan. He says I should go along with your treaty," Tytido said.

Concern replaced joy on Dreibrand’s face and he asked Tytido if he was upset.

"I was surprised," Tytido admitted. "But, well, I guess it is all right."

"Tytido, this joining the Empire is just a thing on paper to make our lives easier. I swear," Dreibrand said.

Although enamored of the goal to create a distinctive Nufalese kingdom, Tytido could get used to the idea of joining the Atrophane Empire when he considered Lydea. She had thought the news was wonderful.

"At least Faychan is far away," Tytido said.

"I thought you might like that," Dreibrand said. "And I will make sure one of my first acts as Governor is the official recognition of your noble rank."

Pleased by the proposal, Tytido said, "We will save the details for another day. It is good to see you, Dreibrand. I have missed your company."

"I gather that you have kept yourself entertained though. I heard you have a baby on the way," Dreibrand said.

Tytido immediately puffed out with pride and declared that he would soon have the strongest smartest son in Nufal.

Miranda could not resist intruding. As she transferred Victoria to her wet nurse, she said, "Jolen says it is a girl."

"Jolen told me he could not quite tell," Tytido insisted. Miranda and he had been trading opinions on the subject for over a week.

If Atarek were here, he would probably be betting on it, Dreibrand thought. He asked to greet Lydea so he could get her side of the story.

Tytido guided him behind a row of wagons. Deltane and Esseldan scampered close to Dreibrand’s feet, but he enjoyed getting used to the hindrance again.

Under the shade of a canvas canopy that was strung between two wagons, Lydea and Hanshen were comforting their mother. Cevlead hovered nervously at Madame Fayeth’s side. He had broken the news to Madame Fayeth about her finances, and he looked nearly as miserable as she acted.

Madame Fayeth was actually half-fainted on a campstool. Lydea fanned her and said "Mother" a lot.

The scene startled Dreibrand, but Tytido encouraged him. "She is getting better," he said.

Cevlead tried to revive the courage of the Atrophane merchant woman. "Madame Fayeth, you held up much better when the Bostas attacked," he said.

"Does warehouses mean everything in the warehouses?" Madame Fayeth asked with bewildered hope.

"Mother, of course it does," Lydea said. She held her lower back as she patted her mother’s shoulder. "Please, Mother, we have been gone so long, the employees have probably stolen half of everything anyway."

Madame Fayeth moaned.

Dreibrand approached the traumatized woman. Riddled with guilt, he groped for something to say.

Before he could attempt an apology, Madame Fayeth actually brightened at the sight of him. "Oh, Lord Dreibrand, welcome back!" she cried.

"Yes, thank you, Madame Fayeth. I see that Cevlead has told you what was done," Dreibrand said.

She slumped and patted her chest, fearing another bout of hyperventilation.

Dreibrand continued, "I assure you that Cevlead tried very hard to stop it, and I apologize that your association with me caused—"

Madame Fayeth cut him off. "Oh, it is not your fault. Thank you for killing that horrid man, Sandin Promentro. I held you in high esteem before, Lord Dreibrand, and I still do," she insisted.

"Madame Fayeth, I promise to make things up to you," Dreibrand said.

Embarrassed by his apologies and promises, Madame Fayeth collected herself. She considered her display unseemly around an imperial Governor. "Lord Dreibrand, please do not pity me. I will be all right. It just came as such a shock," she said.

"Mother," Hanshen said. "At least my uncle did not get my inheritance."

His lemonade observation made Madame Fayeth smile, and, when she looked at his healthy face, she was wealthy enough.
"Oh, Hanshen, dear, that is right," she laughed.

Dreibrand noted Hanshen’s vigor and recent growth and surmised that Madame Fayeth was likely to accept any consequences of her decision to travel to Nufal.

When Madame Fayeth started to get up from the stool, Dreibrand and Cevlead both jumped to give her a hand.

"Please stop fussing," Madame Fayeth said. "I will recover. Commander Fanlyre, you are right, I have been better under pressure."

"It is just Lord Cevlead now," Cevlead said.

"Oh, just Lord Cevlead," Madame Fayeth remarked sarcastically.

Regaining her commanding personality, she told Lydea to sit down. As Lydea gratefully lowered her pregnant body to the stool, Tytido said, "Lydea, Dreibrand wants to know about the baby. You think it will be a boy, don’t you?"

"I did not say that," she snapped, and then rubbing her swollen belly, she explained, "I would not let Jolen tell me. I want it to be a surprise."

Dreibrand wished for Tytido and Lydea to have a healthy child, and then inquired about any possible names. They surprised him when they answered that they had agreed to compromise and use a combination of Hirqua and Atrophaney names.

Although Lydea was pleased by Dreibrand’s happiness about her upcoming child, she had to change the subject and express her condolences.

"Lord Dreibrand, I want you to know how upset my whole family and I are about Atarek. Your brother will be missed, and I share in your sorrow deeply," Lydea said.

Dreibrand thanked her, knowing how sincere she was.

Lydea continued, "Tytido showed us the grave, and we have already put up a tombstone for him, but I am sure that you will want a grander monument."

Dreibrand, who had been haunted by the barren rectangle of dirt in his memory, greatly appreciated the effort. It helped to know that mourners had already visited Atarek.

Glancing at Madame Fayeth, Dreibrand said, "I think that I should visit Atarek’s grave tomorrow before I go home."

"We shall join you," Madame Fayeth said. Her sadness for Atarek distracted her momentarily from her financial ruin.

None of them spoke as they thought about Atarek. With a celebration about to begin, it seemed to everyone that Atarek should be there. With his talent for merriment gone from the world, parties would never quite be as fun.  

Miranda shifted the heavy mood. "We are together today after so long apart. And Dreibrand and Shan have brought us peace and security as well. We must celebrate. Atarek would want us to have a good time," she said.

"Yes, he certainly would," Dreibrand said. Freshly renewed by Miranda’s love and with his children close, he could rejoice. He beckoned to Tytido and said, "My friend, I am far behind on toasting your virility."

Lydea cast down her eyes but a naughty smile crouched behind her mouth. Tytido accepted the invitation eagerly and led Dreibrand to his honored place where the settlers were preparing the party.

While Tytido poured the first drink and Dreibrand started to take off his armor, the optimistic mood of the settlers abruptly shifted to nervousness. Dreibrand pulled his armored jacket back over his shoulders and then spotted what had alarmed everybody. Alloi was entering the camp. She had hung back to avoid intruding on the pleasant reunions, but Shan had sought her out and brought her to the gathering. Although the female tabre had reportedly surrendered to Shan, the people did not know what to expect when they saw the rys King escorting her into the creek bottoms. Shan quickly introduced Alloi and offered reassurances to his human neighbors. Alloi praised the settlers for beginning to rebuild Nufal, and she promised to never harm them again.

Calmed by her gracious words, the people gradually returned their attention to merrymaking. Judging from Shan’s tolerance of the tabre, the settlers were willing to believe that Alloi was little more than a war trophy for their King.

The people of Nufal turned the warm day into a memorable celebration that lasted late into the night with red meat roasting over fires, warm laughter, embraces, and the happy energy of music dissolving their cares. Dreibrand marked the day in his mind and considered making it an annual summer holiday. The Empire would not keep him from developing Nufal’s traditions and customs as he pleased.

Alloi stayed at Shan’s side for as long as she could stand to participate in the celebration, but by early evening, she excused herself to a private spot away from the singing and dancing. Shan let her go. The fact that she had joined him at all encouraged him.

Although Alloi did not resent the joy around her, guilt and grief isolated her. The quiet flow of the creek beside her drew tears from her eyes. When she pondered the rys mingling with the humans at the party, the reality of tabre extinction contaminated her soul like a carcass rotting in a pure mountain spring. The civilization of tabre and humans in Nufal would be replaced by rys and humans. She listened to the rys singing new songs about the east. The Great War was truly over.

Few people noticed Alloi’s departure from the festivities. People danced and reveled in their successes. The news about joining the Empire did not cause a stir. The concept remained abstract, especially because most of the settlers were from the west. Dreibrand expected that as time passed he would begin to hear more opinions.

Dreibrand danced with Miranda. He had forgotten the simple pleasure of having fun and being loved. They held each other close and moved with the music. They could not stop smiling at each other.

When Miranda took a break, Dreibrand asked Madame Fayeth to dance. She tried to refuse, sputtering with matronly reservation, but Dreibrand insisted. They had fun, but as they traveled the dancing circle, Madame Fayeth often noted the serious way that Dreibrand looked at her.

Eventually, even Dreibrand tired and he abandoned the dancing ground. Another man quickly asked Madame Fayeth to dance, and before she could claim weariness, she was danced back into the mix. Unmarried women in Vetanium rarely got to leave a dance without obliging three or four male partners.

Dreibrand flopped happily onto the ground between Shan and Miranda. He had taken his armor off and his shirt was open. The nighttime breeze cooled the sweat on his chest, and he leaned back onto his elbows.

"I have not seen Rose have so much fun since Lydea’s wedding," Miranda commented without mentioning that it had been Atarek entertaining her exclusively on that evening.

Tytido poured Dreibrand a drink and handed it to him.

Dreibrand sipped the liquor, privately noticing that his tolerance had lessened while he was in the east.

"Tytido, you should go dance with your mother-in-law," Dreibrand said.

The idea amused Lydea, but Tytido said, "If Rose wants me to dance with her, I am sure that she will inform me."

Dreibrand laughed, guessing that Tytido had been wearied by sharing close quarters with his extended family. "Any progress on your settlement?" he asked.

Tytido put an arm around Lydea and answered that after the birth of their child they hoped to start a new home before winter. "I will be felling trees myself," he added in the western language in order to avoid alerting Lydea to his mounting aggravation with her mother.

Dreibrand grinned and said, "Supplies for the third settlement will be a priority this season, I promise."

 He and Tytido toasted each other. When Dreibrand finished his shot, Shan excused himself and wished everyone a pleasant evening. Dreibrand set his drink aside and jumped up to follow Shan as he strolled away from the happy circle of friends.  

"Is something wrong?" Dreibrand asked.

Shan whispered that he had let Alloi be alone long enough and that the party was very difficult for her.

Dreibrand imagined how the enthusiastic group of rys and humans could easily become a salted scourge on Alloi’s desolate mind. Alloi had a heavier grief to bear than the loss of one family member. She had lost everything and even vengeance was useless. Dreibrand returned slowly to his group and wondered how Shan would prevent Alloi from becoming dangerous again.

The party continued without Shan, and it was late into the night before the women and children began to drift to their bedrolls. Dreibrand stayed up, drinking with his warriors and reminiscing about their comrades who had fallen in the war.

When Dreibrand joined his sleeping family where they had spread their blankets under the stars, he laid down next to Miranda. He kissed her behind the ear and slowly moved his hand down her body, lingering on every curve. On the other side of her nestled Victoria and then the boys.

Dreibrand and Miranda did not say anything. They stayed awake until the dawn. Their joy was too intense to allow sleep.

Deltane’s first happy shout of the morning ended the wonderful episode for Dreibrand and Miranda. And a fierce headache reprimanded him for his drinking.

Most of the settlers returned to Vetanium, but Dreibrand, with his family and the Fayeths, went west with the rys and Cevlead. The journey to the battlefield took half of the day by wagon.

When they reached the battlefield, Dreibrand saw the block of granite in the distance that marked Atarek’s resting place. Shan, disturbed by the location where he had lost his moral mind, locked himself into a tranquil state and joined the human visitors at the grave.

No one spoke right away. Dreibrand visibly contained his sorrow. He had been nearly as insane as Shan the last time that he had stood by the grave.

Today, with the trauma of war less acute, Dreibrand had his family and friends to console him more completely. Tall prairie grass had grown over the hole dug from the freezing ground, and the women picked wildflowers and piled the blossoms around the tombstone.

Dreibrand read the inscription on the tombstone that Hanshen had composed.

Better than brave, a protector, a friend, beloved brother and nobleman. Here rests the Atrophane Lord Atarek of the House of Veta.

Dreibrand told Hanshen that he liked what he had written. Dreibrand then eulogized his brother more properly than the first time. He recounted happy episodes from their childhood and credited Atarek with guiding him as only an older brother could. He praised his brother for helping the Fayeths, and then Dreibrand expressed his remorse for neglecting to contact Atarek. He thanked Atarek for coming to Nufal and finding him.

Dreibrand concluded, "Atarek, you reminded me that I was an Atrophane noble, and I have come to your grave to say that our censure is ended. Our generation had to suffer the humiliation and ruin, but the future of our House is restored."

Madame Fayeth and Lydea were crying by now, and Cevlead surprised everyone by asking to speak. Dreibrand granted him permission.

"The Fayeths can attest to my rudeness to Atarek while we crossed the Wilderness. I apologize to all of you and to Atarek’s spirit. I can never reclaim my actions from that time, but I have learned better," Cevlead said.

"Oh, I forgive you," Madame Fayeth sobbed.

Cevlead hung his head, privately finding redemption in his decision not to murder Atarek.

Shan offered no regal words of comfort or fond remembrance. Without warning, blue fire consumed the tombstone. Heat radiated from the granite, and the people stepped back as Shan worked his spell. When the magical fire faded, a perfect portrait in relief had been added to the stone. Atarek looked devilishly amused about something.

Everyone stared at the face as if waiting for the flawless image to speak.

"I hope I did not presume too much," Shan murmured.

"It is great," Dreibrand said.

Everyone reiterated the comment, admiring the genius of Shan’s rendition.

"I have a vivid memory of that expression in my mind," Shan explained.

After everyone contemplated their loss a while longer, Miranda told her sons to say goodbye to their Uncle until next time. The boys patted the cooling tombstone, and Deltane even kissed the stone cheek before retreating from the grave. As Miranda turned to leave, she pressed a small cloth pouch into Dreibrand’s hand.

He squeezed it, feeling what it contained.

As the others slowly moved away, he requested, "Madame Fayeth, could you stay with me a moment."

She stayed, but even after they were alone, Dreibrand did not take his eyes from the startling portrait of Atarek.

"Lord Dreibrand, what can I do for you?" Madame Fayeth asked.

Dreibrand detached himself from the face of his brother. He looked around, and even turned half a step so that he could scan more of the horizon.

"This might be a good place for another town. It is one day from Vetanium and four days from the pass into the Jingten Valley," Dreibrand said. "I am thinking that I should grant you title to this area. It would be a suitable spot to attract travelers and traders. A business center to complement the capital that Vetanium shall become."

Madame Fayeth stared at him, overwhelmed by his proposal that would effectively lift her into the noble ranks.

Dreibrand continued, warming to his idea, "Actually, I was thinking about licensing you exclusively for the trade of silk in this province. Its production is unknown in the west, and the rys are already developing an appetite for it. The humans of the western kingdoms will surely desire as much as they can get as well. Giving you a silk monopoly in the region should replace your lost fortune."

Madame Fayeth gasped. Deciding that grief surely drove Dreibrand to such excess, she said, "Lord Dreibrand, you do not need to give me so much. I can take care of myself. I was already thinking of going to Jingten and starting a business as an importer. You do not need to lavish me with such privilege. I know how to make a profit."

"I am sure," Dreibrand agreed. "But I am also sure that Atarek would have wanted you to have what I propose."

Madame Fayeth looked confused and then a little uncomfortable. "I doubt Atarek considered such grand economic designs," she said. Her tone was fond and not entirely derogatory.

"He may have in time," Dreibrand rejoined. He leaned closer to her, aching with the responsibility of expressing his brother’s affection, and said, "Atarek spoke of you with his dying breath. He asked me to tell you that he loved you."  

Madame Fayeth choked on a grateful sob, but then said, "He would have made a terrible husband."

"Yes, he would have," Dreibrand agreed without any doubt.

Madame Fayeth sniffled into her damp handkerchief. Shaking her head, she insisted that she could not accept Dreibrand’s offer.

Dreibrand said, "Please, Madame Fayeth, build a fine town, a city for Atarek. Make yourself wealthy and perhaps even happy and give Atarek a living monument that people will travel across Ektren to visit. Atarek must lie in this lonely battleground forever, but it is too quiet for him. His spirit shall need a town close to keep him company."

Madame Fayeth blinked on her tears as she remembered the many times that Atarek had helped her. Despite how often he had upset her, she had always seen the love in his actions. She would miss him for the rest of her life.

"If it will make you feel better, then I accept your generous offer, Lord Dreibrand, and thank you for giving me so much. I will try to do as you ask," Madame Fayeth said.

"You will succeed," Dreibrand predicted.

Madame Fayeth smiled. Although a little daunted by the remote land around her, she was already speculating about what prices silk might demand in the west.

"Tell the others I will be done here soon," Dreibrand said.

Recognizing that he needed his time alone with his brother, Madame Fayeth withdrew.

Dreibrand looked at the cloth pouch in his hand and then looked into Atarek’s stone eyes, as if asking permission. Closing his hand over the pouch again, Dreibrand pulled out a flask that he had filled that morning. He shut his eyes quickly as he vividly saw the flask deep in the ground, wrapped with Atarek’s remains.

When he was able, Dreibrand opened the flask and poured most of its contents over the grave. The strong liquor smell blended with the fresh aroma of wildflowers. Dreibrand then took a long pull on the flask, dousing his grief as much as sharing a strong drink with his absent brother.

He took several deep breaths as his body adjusted to the influx of alcohol. His hangover receded rapidly.

"Enjoy, Atarek. I will bring you some good wine next time," Dreibrand said.

He put the flask away, and stood over his brother’s grave. He listened to the wind laughing through the prairie grass. As much as he wanted to believe that Atarek would respond, he knew that his brother was gone. Below the newly healed turf, his bones lay. Dreibrand had put him in the hole himself.

He wiped his eyes and finally took the jade stallion ring from the pouch. He waited a moment as if expecting his brother’s spirit to rise and protest.

"I am sorry I got you killed, At," Dreibrand whispered and put the ring on. He clenched his fist and contemplated the ring on his hand. He could see Atarek’s portrait beyond his hand, and Dreibrand accepted that he was the heir of his noble House.

Knowing that he had Atarek’s sanction, Dreibrand turned away from the grave. He saw that the rys soldiers were already heading west. The great blue mountains of their homeland loomed expectantly over their orderly line of white horses.  

Shan, Alloi, and Dey remained behind with the humans, waiting to complete their farewells with Dreibrand. When Dreibrand walked up to the group, conversation ended and he could feel their sympathy. Miranda, who stood close to Shan, noted the ring on her husband’s finger.

Dreibrand refrained from looking directly at Alloi, who sulked behind Shan. Instead he smiled to Cevlead and extended a hand. "Are you sure that you are ready to see Jingten, Cevlead?" Dreibrand teased. As they shook hands, he set his other hand on the shoulder of his Atrophane ally.

Cevlead said, "Very much, Dreibrand. And I will try to mend some of the damage done during the war. I am sure that many rys no longer view the Atrophane with anything less than animosity."

Shan said, "You will find that we do not keep grudges long, but your goodwill is welcome. The rys shall honor you as the friend of Dreibrand Veta."

"A distinction that I have had to work hard for," Cevlead said.

"I hope I have been worth the trouble," Dreibrand said and stepped back after giving Cevlead a parting pat on the shoulder.

Miranda reached out to Shan and said goodbye. He took her hands and kissed her cheek. They lingered together for a moment, appreciating the trust and affection that bound them.

Shan then wished everyone a safe journey home. As Miranda started her children toward the wagon, Dreibrand told Dey to watch out for Cevlead.

Dey said, "I will. And, Lord Dreibrand, I think that I shall come back to Vetanium with him if I am welcome."

"Certainly, Dey. More than welcome," Dreibrand said, enthusiastic about the request.

"I want to study healing with Jolen, and as Nufal grows, the people will need more than one healer," Dey said. Although his career as a soldier had been short, Dey had explored the arts of war enough to discover his true calling as a healer. The precise magic of Alloi that had mended his body so quickly had been an intense inspiration as well.

Dreibrand told Dey and Cevlead that he looked forward to their return. They mounted their horses and rode west. Dreibrand envied Cevlead his first exciting view of Jingten.

As the other people mounted their horses or climbed into the wagons, Dreibrand made eye contact with Alloi. He wanted to encourage her to go with Shan, but he did not feel it was his place to tell her where to go. After all, Nufal was her home.

Alloi read his thoughts and felt his deep misgivings about coexisting with her.

Dreibrand nodded to her respectfully and then faced Shan.

"You must come see the progress on my palace soon," Shan said.

"Gladly, my King," Dreibrand said. "I will come see you in the spring."

As he made the pledge, he found that he truly wanted to make the visit. He was no longer angry about what had happened. Wars always created ugly incidents, and Shan and he had been victims of a deranged situation.

The rys and the human said their final farewell, and, as Dreibrand joined his family, Shan derived strength from the loyalty within his human friend.

When Dreibrand settled into the saddle, he resolved to inspect his horse herds very soon. The newest crop of colts sired by Starfield waited for him to pick from.

Deltane yelled to him from the wagon, and Dreibrand could not resist the boy’s plea to ride with him. He plucked his son from the wagon and settled him in the front of the saddle. Esseldan moved into the wagon seat next to his mother, and Miranda shook the reins and started the team of horses.

They were going home, and late that night, Dreibrand would sleep between fresh linens in his own bed with Miranda. He would go back to doing the things he loved and building a good society. And the day would come when he received word from the Atrophane Empire that the censure on the House of Veta was over.

Tytido drove the other wagon, and Hanshen, who had taken up horse riding, cantered alongside it. As the wagons moved away, the boy turned back quickly and ran his horse to Atarek’s grave. He pondered the marker of his departed adult friend and whispered one more wish for his rowdy former bodyguard to be happy wherever he was. 

Before he caused his mother to call for him, Hanshen galloped back to the wagons.

Shan watched the boy circle the grave and explained to Alloi how he had reversed the human child’s terminal illness.

"Alloi, if you would let me, perhaps I can cure your spirit as I cured his body," Shan suggested.

Alloi stared at the human families moving eastward into the heartland of Nufal. They were going home, but joining them did not seem to be the answer to her woes.  Her home, although in the same place, was thousands of years in the past.

Shan recognized her hopeless jealousy and said, "For some time, I have placed my longing for you to live with me in Jingten at the surface of my thoughts, but you have never commented on the idea. Alloi, will you come to Jingten and live with me?"

"Shan," she whispered as if exploring the possibility of staying with him for the first time. She looked at Shan, and her astounding beauty lured his love, as did the tortured kindness that saturated her stained soul. "I know that your invitation is sincerely said. Rarely does one, who has so much to give, give of his things so freely. But how can I accept? You are rys. All of you are rys. If you were born in my time, you would look at me and hate me because I am tabre. How can you suggest that I live among rys?"

Her cold discouraging questions kicked at his hope like a cruel man abusing a good dog, but he said, "Because I love you, Alloi."

"Love cannot mend all things," she admonished.

Shan seized the deeper subject that kept her from him and pushed its ugliness into the light.

"Will Alloi, after all her good words about forsaking vendetta, cling to her prejudice now?" he said.

"I have done my best to set right the damage created by my choices and actions," she defended.

"But what have you done for the damage you have sustained?" Shan countered. "Will Alloi, last of the tabre, not give herself even the chance to find peace?"

The question disgusted her. Alloi lived in permanent horror.

She argued, "You only ask me to live with you because you fear that I will go insane if I stay by myself. The humans of Nufal fear me as well. They try not to, but I have given them reasons enough to withhold their trust."

"Why do you ignore my other reason for inviting you to my home, Alloi?" Shan said. "Is it so unbearable that the rys King loves you?"

Alloi wanted to flee. She did not want to reject him after he had been so kind and merciful. But joining Shan would forever insult Tempet’s spirit.

White light swirled within her eyes. "I can see Dacian and Onja in your mind," she said. "How can I love you when I see them in you?"

Her fundamental loathing for her ancient enemies rocked Shan.

"Then you condemn me for being born," he said. "Onja adopted me as a rysling and raised me. I know that your suffering cannot be exceeded, but I endured her. I endured her for centuries. Do you not see also in my mind how I battled her and hurt her?" Shan demanded.

 Alloi nodded and then looked at the Rysamand Mountains, whose daunting peaks had for so long been her view from the war front. "It is so hard," she whispered.

Forcing open her vulnerable need for a purposeful life, Shan said, "Alloi, the rys and the tabre, we are the same. You told me so yourself, and I can see it as well. Yes, we are born of different of lands, but we are the same."

Alloi trembled now, resisting the truth, unable to cope with it.

Shan continued, "Come live with your own kind. It will be difficult and it will not be perfect, but you will be among your kin. It will be far better than wandering Nufal in solitude and misery."

Alloi did not plan to haunt the ruins of her civilization. The map of her soul contained enough broken cities. She wanted to die.

Shan pounced on the thought. He sympathized with her compulsion for suicide, but he believed that he could offer her a better option.

Tenderly he reached out for her. First, he touched her upper arm and then lightly ran his hand down her arm until he clasped her hand. With his other hand, he toyed with a lock of white hair near her cheekbone.

"As the last tabre, you could choose to continue. You should consider mating. Your offspring would continue the tabre line. Your race would not truly perish from the world when you are gone. You could be the thread that ties the rys and the tabre back into one race, one culture," Shan proposed.

Stunned by the idea, Alloi shut her eyes. Wartime culture had ingrained in her a revulsion for rys, but only by bonding with a rys could she possibly attain a continuation of her flesh. Although diluted, the tabre could remain a part of the living world if she did what he said.

"Jingten needs a new Queen," Shan said.

"The rys will never have it," Alloi said, seeking an easy excuse to deny him.

"I am the King of Jingten and the rys shall have what I say," Shan said.

Alloi peeked at him and sensed the many levels of his power. She wondered what it would be like to be aroused by his mightiness.

"You suggest yourself as my mate," she stated.

"I love you as I have loved no other," Shan said. "For you, I feel every kind of love. Pure, protective, carnal, every element in between. Please, come to Jingten and live as my guest. Consider my offer. Give yourself a chance to return my love."

With only the nothingness of total despair and extinction to compete with the enticing glow of his warm soul, Alloi told him that she would try.

Shan kissed her. Startled but willing, Alloi returned his kiss. Shan caressed her with tiny pleasure spells, and Alloi mimicked his enchanted touch, learning the new spell.

 

Appendix A ~ The Atrophane Political System

The elite families of the Atrophane ruling class come from ancient noble lineages that are traced back to the days of legend before recorded history. Even in the increasingly cosmopolitan and commercial society of the contemporary Atrophane Empire, most of the land remains owned by the noble families. Religious groups that administer the worship of Atrophane’s official pantheon of Gods and Goddesses also possess large land holdings, but these estates were originally gifted to them by the nobles.

Before the imperial period, the various noble families feuded and warred for power, influence, and territory on the Atrophane Peninsula although they were all bound culturally and linguistically. Eventually war weariness eroded conflicting alliances, and the noble families made peace and created the imperial state that imposed stability. Aggression and competition among the powerful families were directed outward and the era of conquest and expansion began. The movement that led to the creation of the imperial state was also prompted by the rising threat from Pandovelar, to the west of the Atrophane Peninsula. As is often the case, a people divided by their own dreams of avarice will unite when confronted by a common enemy. The final conquest of Pandovelar took several generations to achieve, but once the Pandovelar were subdued, the Atrophane war machine, known as the Horde, ranged farther west into neighboring kingdoms.

The head of the imperial state is the Darmar, who rules for life and acts as a referee among the noble families. His court can judge their grievances and even mete out punishments if the transgressions are sufficiently egregious. When a Darmar dies, the Clans and Houses through their governmental representatives known as deratas who comprise the Derataem elect a new Darmar from among the noble ranks. Such a system maintains the hereditary powers of the nobles while theoretically avoiding the hereditary domination (with its idiot son potential) of a single noble family.

Throughout Atrophane history, the Clans have always been more numerous and powerful than the Houses, but Houses still possess substantial land holdings and their family members enjoy equal noble privileges. Although the rule of law applies to nobles, the standards are not as strict as they are for merchant class and commoners. And of course, slaves suffer the worst under the laws that subjugate them.

The non-noble classes have no direct representation or say in the government of the Empire although the religious orders continually claim to be motivated by the interests of the common classes. This strategy helps to sustain temple worship and donations from throughout the populace and it arguably gives the priests more leverage upon popular opinion than the nobles.

Even lacking any mechanism for popular representation, the governing of the Atrophane people tends to be guided by moderation. The elite of Atrophane generally adhere to their cultural devotion to prosperity and unity. If the masses are abused, then they might revolt and cause mayhem, which would lessen prosperity. Intellectually and spiritually the Atrophane have cultivated in their political and leadership theories a strong affinity for competency. Fair leadership will bring good results. Certainly, Atrophane history shows that this ideal is not always upheld, but it remains a sound philosophy that has elevated its civilization above that of its neighbors.  

Appendix B ~ The Status of Women in the East

All societies exhibit differences in the roles, rights, and expectations for the genders. Within Atrophane Society, a uniquely high status for women has been a defining characteristic. However, the greater freedom and in some cases power that are afforded to females within Atrophane society should not be misconstrued as equality between the sexes. Formal positions of power within the local and imperial political structures are held by men, and the military that has always performed a strong role throughout Atrophane history is the sole province of men.

The apparent exclusion of women within the formal hierarchy of the Atrophane does not translate into denigration of the physical or intellectual worthiness of women. Even from its earliest known histories, the Atrophane people have exhibited great respect for women, who have traditionally enjoyed land owning rights, inheritance rights, and a great deal of control over the custody of their children. Women consent to their marriages, divorce if they wish to, and even bear children out of wedlock with only mild stigma. In general no debate exists about whether women should be free, educated, and influential in their affairs, be it personal or business. Women are seen as crucial members of society and the vessels of fertility.

The talents of women contribute to Atrophane society on many levels. Certainly women fulfill the role of family nurturer as they do in any culture, but professional and influential positions are open to women as well. Within the noble and merchant classes, professions such as accountant, scholar, teacher, and farm and vineyard manager are not uncommonly held by women. And although women do not hold formal political positions, they often are employed professionally by deratas as important aides and secretaries. Noble women, if they choose to be politically active, have been known to exert considerable political influence via their roles as socialite hostesses who manipulate information and opinion among men of power. Noble women also benefit by their connections to two families – their birth families and their husbands' families – whereas men tend to have a lesser degree of influence with the families of their wives.

Striking contradiction emerges upon closer inspection of the status of women in Atrophane society. Being a slave-holding culture, the Atrophane simultaneously respect – admire even – the freedom of women while also binding some women in slavery. Men can be slaves as well, but the existence of free women who can own female slaves illustrates how inequality permeates the culture. However, inequality is not based on gender. It is based on social status and perhaps misfortune. A woman is not enslaved because she is inferior. A woman, or a man for that matter, is enslaved because she has no means of enforcing her right to freedom. In more female-oppressive cultures, it can be argued that all women are slaves because they have no recognized right to freedom.

Throughout the rest of the eastern world in the societies of Pandovelar, Phemnalang, and the Ramrai River provinces, patriarchy forces women into a lesser role. Property and marriage rights are much more strictly defined, or as is usually the case, prohibited. Although legally, the status of women in these other eastern societies is assigned a low position, it does not equal the total subjugation of women found in the western world. An eastern woman can aspire to a fair level of independence outside of her male relatives if she is able to succeed in business or otherwise survive in the absence of male relatives. The legal codes brought by the expansion of the Atrophane Empire, however, have been expanding the rights of women and initiating opportunity.

 

About the Author

Tracy Falbe has been an enthusiast of fantasy stories since childhood. She was born in Michigan in 1972 and grew up in Mt. Pleasant. In 1995 she moved to Nevada and currently resides in Northern California with her husband, sons, German shepherd, and black cat. Her hobbies include being a news junkie, archery, baking, and gardening.

In 2000, she earned a journalism degree from California State University, Chico. She considers writing a necessary activity that she enjoys. She has the most fun writing in the fantasy genre. She finds inspiration in history and likes to contemplate warfare before gunpowder and life without modern technology. Placing characters in an elder world fantasy setting fascinates her and allows her to explore age-old notions of bravery when combat was often done face-to-face. Magic is another story element that adds to the pleasure of writing in this genre.

Tracy’s first published work was the non-fiction title "Get Dicey: Play Craps and Have Fun" based on her years working as a craps dealer in Las Vegas. Since learning to read and write as a child, Tracy always knew that she wanted to write novels. The Rys Chronicles represents the efforts of many adult years.

 

Brave Luck Books ™

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Get all the books from The Rys Chronicles by Tracy Falbe.

Book I - Union of Renegades

Book II - The Goddess Queen

Book III - Judgment Rising (available 2007)

Book IV - The Borderlands of Power (available 2007)

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