The Trees And The Night (Book 3) (30 page)

Utecht delivered the last line with an edge that implied no such care was taken with Keltar’s current ruler. Fenrel’s lip curled in distaste and he stepped close to Utecht, snarling down upon the older man.

“The fate of Keltar is foremost in the mind of all the House of Stormbreaker,” growled Fenrel.

“In those days, King Grannak sent me to spy on the military maneuvers of the river folk,” stated Utecht, ignoring the prince.

“The river folk?” questioned the prince. “The military of the traders on the Ituan?”

“Yes,” replied Utecht flatly.

“Rindor is a city state under the dominion of Zodra,” scoffed Fenrel. “Their men have long since been bled into the Guard.”

“No, they have not,” returned an expressionless Utecht.

Fenrel spun and turned to the host positioned across the rolling plain. Bright blue banners rose and lazily floated in the light breeze. A breaching fish embroidered with golden thread lay across some of the banners. Others portrayed a pair of playful otters.

Fenrel turned back to Utecht.

“What were the conclusions of your observations?” snapped Fenrel.

“I forwarded my conclusions to the honorable General Olith to assess,” said Utecht. “Your uncle is most equipped to determine how formidable a foe the Rindorans are.”

Blood flushed into Fenrel’s sweaty face and his eyes bulged in apoplectic anger. His huge hand snatched the front of Utecht’s tunic and he dragged the old warrior into his face.

“WELL! THE OLD FOOL ROTS IN THE CELLS OF THE PALACE!” roared Fenrel. “AND IF YOU WISH TO JOIN HIM YOU CAN CONTINUE TO BE SLOW ABOUT UNMASKING YOUR INFORMATION!”

Spit and foam sprayed from the prince’s mouth across the face of Utecht. The Keltaran warrior neither blinked nor wiped the moisture from his face. He stared back into the wild eyes of Fenrel.

“The Rindorans are accomplished warriors with a tradition of service and training that rivals our own,” stated Utecht calmly. “Each man must serve within their army for at least three years of his lifetime. Once service is complete, the man must return to the royal training grounds to the north of the river once a summer for renewed instruction.

“The city maintains a regular force of nearly five hundred infantry and cavalry who are often life long members of the Spear. This is the main corps of their force. I imagine they supplemented those numbers with men equipped and trained to take up arms at a moments notice.“

“That is more like it,” grumbled Fenrel. “So now I am aware of the army deployed against me. The real question is, how great a threat are these fishermen playing at soldier.”

“I assure you, Fenrel son of Grannak,” stated Utecht, “the Rindorans are not to be taken lightly. It is true they own a limited history of warfare but what they do own is significant. The river city represents the only blemish on Zodra’s record of conquest and domination of the Westlands. The Spear turned aside every assault on their stronghold and steadfastly endured a siege of immense length.”

“What care I of ancient battles?” barked the prince. “It is the here and now that concerns me.”

“The Now is a direct result of the Then,” quoted Utecht from a well-known sermon by Granu. “Those dwelling within the river city’s walls have not changed, nor has their character. We shall find overcoming them a stern task.”

Fenrel’s eyes again flashed with rage.

“For one so knowledgeable in the ways of war, you quote a cowardly peacemaker easily, old man,” shouted Fenrel.

He spun from Utecht and stormed toward his attendants.

“I must ponder these developments in a place without distractions,” boomed Fenrel. “Erect my pavilion between the shoulders of the hills. I require solitude and clarity of thought to determine our next move.”

The attendants sped off toward the supply wagons of the Anvil.

Fenrel grabbed a Ramsskull officer and tore the man’s black mantle from his frame. He shoved the man aside and spun to Utecht throwing the goat skull uniform at the old man. Utecht caught the uniform and looked at it in distaste.

“Since the loss of my most trusted advisor, Aul, I feel little comfort in the musings of these imbeciles arrayed about me,” snarled Fenrel. “You, on the other hand, provide useful information, albeit in a dangerously bold tone.

“I do not wish to lose your whereabouts within the throng. A man of your knowledge and open tongue bears watching. A leader never knows when a man might overstep his bounds and act against or beyond authority.”

Fenrel paused and glared at the old sergeant.

“For example, he might accept parlay when it is not his to accept.”

Utecht remained stone faced.

“My lord, I am unfit for the Ramsskull,” said Utecht.

“Meaning you are beneath the Ramsskull or the Ramsskull is beneath you?” asked Fenrel raising an eyebrow.

Utecht let the question hang in the air.

“No matter,” continued the prince. “You will stay close to my Ramsskull and inform me immediately of any changes in the enemies formation. I must contrive a means of victory over this rabble.”

Fenrel turned with a sweep of his cloak and stalked toward his already rising pavilion. The Anvil hung motionless staring at the prince until he marched well out of earshot then broke into animated discussion. The Ramsskull officers eyed one another nervously then backed from the main force to offer their own consul.

Utecht hovered a moment longer then let the skull embossed garment fall from his hands to the dirt below. He turned to the Anvil and was gathered in by his concerned compatriots.

Manfir stood near the top of the main hill deep in thought. Around him stood Macin, Corad, Gage, Generals Wynard and Yully, the militia commanders and Brelg.  Silence hung in the air as all the men ruminated on their predicament.  Finally, Colonel Flair crested the hill.

“Pardon my late arrival, gentlemen,” huffed Flair, his chest heaving from the exertion of the climb. “I was busy integrating our two cavalries when I received the summons.”

“No apologies needed, colonel. I would rather you completed your task than hastily retreat from it,” returned Manfir kindly. “Besides, your delay afforded me more time to think on the matter at hand and solidify my line of thought. I’ve come to a conclusion concerning our future, my friends, and I would like to share it with you.”

All eyes stared intently at the prince as he pursed his lips and steeled himself for what appeared a hard choice.

“In the morn, several of us stood on the rolling field below and spoke of ‘what if’ and ‘why not’,” said Manfir. “What if things were different between our peoples? Why couldn’t I ride the hills and valleys surrounding the Zorim unmolested one day?  Why, even though we all announce ourselves followers of Avra, have we allowed centuries of mistrust and enmity to develop between these two great nations?

“These are the questions that I’ve asked myself in the weeks since I beheld Granu son of Grannak standing in the halls of Luxlor. These are the questions that I can find no good answer for.

“I’ve long counted myself a student of Brelg Kelson and once more found myself marveling at his wisdom this morning. He and General Wynard put words to what has been growing in my heart these many weeks. Granu planted that seed and despite all my worst intentions it flowers.

“Those soldiers standing across the plain, bristling with weaponry and ready to slaughter us all, are the salvation of Zodra, not its doom.”

All remained still, even Macin stood speechless.

“You raise no protest against this judgment because all here know it to be true. The field below carries a destiny. Forever more it will stand as the place where humanity marked itself for death or found new redemption in the ideals of forgiveness and reconciliation.

“If we remain steadfast and immovable, war will be waged at this place. Such a war as never occurred between our peoples. Blood will flow and the grass shall grow crimson from its abundance. When all is done, one group shall be victorious. However, a hollow victory is no victory at all.

“If Keltaran banners remain afloat, the future is obvious. Their weakened force will march on toward our homeland and after a prolonged siege they will breach the gates of the capital itself. All will fall before the axes of the followers of Fenrel. Eventually, our forces to the North will be crushed and the Ulrog Horde will make its way to Zodra. Then Fenrel will see that the promises of the Deceiver retain the value of the air they drift upon.

“If by some miracle we prevail against such a monstrous force, we accomplish a tremendous feat but ultimately a victory as hollow as the last. We stand prepared for a battle of cruelty and death. We have no more tricks and no place for retreat. The battle that rages here today is to the death and the halls of Avra will fill with the dead.

“Any Zodrian force that stands upon these slopes when the last blow lands will be one of minor significance or help to our comrades in the North. Thus I conclude that we lose before the first blow is struck.”

The silence lasted a moment more then General Yully cleared his throat.

“A week ago I would have been the first to criticize your methods and your means, Prince Manfir,” stated Yully, “but I’ve stood in wonder as you effectively neutralized the Keltaran’s advantage in numbers and inflicted injury upon them as we go virtually untouched. This melancholy overcoming you perplexes me. Do you believe no hope remains for our nation?”

“Hope is the tonic of the true believer, General Yully,” replied Manfir smiling. “Hope I possess in plenty.”

“But if we cannot do battle here and we cannot retreat to Zodra,” said Flair, “in what is your hope founded? Do you hope to convince the Keltaran to return to their mountains and leave us in peace?”

“Yes,” stated Manfir flatly.

Finally, an animated discussion broke out on the hilltop.

“Impossible,” said Wynard.

“They are far too committed,” exclaimed Flair.

“Lunacy,” laughed a militia commander.

“I plan to invoke the Invitation of Hadraig,” called Manfir above the noise.

The hill quieted.

“The what?” asked Flair.

“The Invitation of Hadraig,” repeated Brelg solemnly. “An ancient challenge, forgotten by many but still talked about among those with a knowledge of lore and warfare.

“Hadraig was the fifth to sit upon the Granite throne after the death of Hrafnu. He was a Keltaran of enormous strength and skill. He openly boasted that no man, neither Keltaran nor Zodrian could best him at individual combat. He claimed there would never be a Zodrian who could best the champion of his people in hand-to-hand combat.

“He went so far as to issue a decree that if ever the champion of the Zodrian force called forth the champion of Keltar and defeated him, the giants would withdraw any claim on the disputed lands and vow never to harass Zodrian settlers.”

“But what do ancient decrees and boasts have to do with us now,” complained Flair. “Fenrel certainly will not honor the ravings of a man centuries dead.”

“We are unsure of that,” replied Manfir.

“Have the Keltaran ever honored it in the past?” asked a visibly irritated Flair.

“No ...” smiled Yully.

“Exactly,” interrupted Flair. “We waste our time. We can still win this ....”

“They never honored the decree,” interrupted Yully in return, “because it was never challenged. Never in all our long struggle has a man been insane enough to throw his life away by challenging the Keltaran champion to combat.”

Flair went silent. The group stared at Manfir.

“You would throw your life away as well, my son,” said King Macin softly. “What do you hope to accomplish?”

“Think of it, Father,” explained Manfir. “Prince Fenrel is the key. He holds sway over his mercenaries and they in turn force his will upon the Anvil. You’ve seen Granu. His people cannot want this ... this waste of humanity.”

Manfir swung a hand toward the battlefield.

“The Abbot represents the faith of his people and if the men across this field hold the same faith, they will not want mankind to decide its fate by murdering each other on these hills.

“Fenrel must fall and with him falls the hold that Izgra and Amird have on his people. Once we have loosened this grip, perhaps we can move our two peoples in a different direction.  It is the only way. I must challenge him. I must face him. I must destroy him.”

“But what if another is chosen to represent Keltar?” asked Brelg. “Or worse yet, Fenrel outright refuses the challenge?”

“The man is full of the self deceit of Amird,” laughed Manfir. “He is a Keltaran giant of renown stature challenged by a simple Zodrian. His pride will force him to accept the challenge.”

The assembly grew solemn and darkness crept over them.

“Keep your heads up, gentlemen,” barked Manfir.

All eyes shot to his stern face.

“Regardless of the outcome you will still have a job to do,” said Manfir. “You will face the might of the Anvil or the power of the Horde. Either way I need you strong of will. Now depart and ready your units.”

All in attendance bowed low and departed the hilltop. Macin hovered a moment longer and returned to his son.

“Brelg and the Seraph molded you into a better man than I ever could have dreamed,” said the king. “Your character and strength of purpose shine a revealing light on my own inadequacies. I am proud with what deficient right I have to be.”