War Lands of Arhosa Read online

  To amuse and distract himself, Tarranau created small images as he walked along, shaping water cupped in his hand into portraits, scenery, tableaux. Some were of the land he saw about him, or of the people with whom he travelled. Others were more fanciful, creatures with four wings and reptilian bodies and crystalline eyes, or trees where the trunk branched every ten feet, creating a strange layered effect. The effort tired him to a degree, but it distracted him from the pressures of the valley, and he was able to forge ahead and lead when Fynyddwr felt his pace slowing.

  Sawwaed kept his mind sharp by driving it through every sweep of the hammer and strike of the shield that had happened to him, in training, in combat. Each battle he dissected, hunting for openings, mistakes, stances that might have altered the outcome. For him, this was critical, for he had been trained as heavy infantry, to fight in a shield wall with others to his left and his right. Now he would fight on his own, with at best Bwyell overlapping shields with him. The warrior would need to learn a new style of fighting, one better suited to standing alone. That knowledge in mind, Sawwaed practised at the end of each day, pulling Bwyell aside to spar with the taciturn bodyguard. The sessions went well, and Sawwaed would smile as he learned the shorter man’s tricks, no longer being caught by underhanded means.

  The reluctance of the seven stretched the journey to the forests of Gysegar Fynadid into another day, and when Atyniadol made her inventory of the food that night, she found they had but two days rations remaining. Fynyddwr grunted when informed of this, and promised to hunt on the morrow. Tonight, they were camped but a mile from the woods, and all felt confident that more food could be found and cooked. Relieved, Atyniadol curled into the crook of Sawwaed’s arm. A thought struck her, and she approached Fynyddwr for a brief conversation. He nodded in response, and she made her way back to the fire, falling asleep soon after.

  The next morning she was awake early, and clasped in her off hand was a sheaf of daggers, each carefully balanced for throwing. Placed some thirty feet away was a lump of earth atop a boulder. Clasping the blade between thumb and forefinger, she flicked the weapon overhand at the mark, her stance and motion judged carefully by Fynyddwr. The knife clanged well wide, skipping off the side of the boulder to bounce along the ground.

  “Arm more upright, and flick that wrist lass, you want a nice rotation on the blade. And use your torso, it adds power.” Another knife skipped away, but this had flown straighter. “Better. Keep practising, and I’ll give you more pointers in a bit.”

  Atyniadol threw until the sheaf was empty, then retrieved the spent knifes from around the target and threw again. The blades still missed most of the time, but a few now began to find their home in the target. With time and practice, Atyniadol was sure she would become skilled at it. Her arm aching, she handed the knives back to Fynyddwr, listened to the advice he had to give, and then prepared for the day.

  The woods beckoned to them all, now that they were near, and their pace was fast as they tumbled through the woods, Fynyddwr leading. They moved at a rush, for the mountaineer wished to set camp early, and spend days in hunting and restoring supplies. Tarranau, his youth spent outdoors, was at home here, jumping and skipping through the woods like the little boy he had once been. Sawwaed, who had only barely heard of the concept of a forest, was at a loss, his feet catching on roots, stumbling from tree to tree, his armour protecting him from many a great knock. The others laughed and chuckled at this, and the journey was made in pleasant fashion, with much banter passing between the seven travellers.

  Yet there was cause for disquiet, for Fynyddwr held up his hand and asked for silence, and the woods fell into a deathly stillness. Without the chatter of the men, the trees were a silent place, a place lacking the twittering of birds or the sounds of insects. Fynyddwr nodded and strode ahead, and the others followed behind once more, their eyes now turned outwards, scanning the forest for something sinister to appear. The mood had fallen, and remained there until the midday meal, when Tarranau asked of the meaning of the silence.

  “A few things, lad. We were noisy, and that’ll scare away game. And I think this is a holy place. That silence… it’s the silence of the chapel, not the grave. You’ve no reason to worry.” Fynyddwr chuckled. “I’ll still get us fodder.”

  Tarranau glanced over at Ceinder, his mind still not at ease.

  “Fyn’s right. The valley was a powerful place. This close to Gysegar Fynadid, I’m not sure I could use my talents. The energy pouring in would overwhelm me.”

  The watermage nodded, then closed his eyes and reached out with his senses. After a moment, he gasped and opened his eyes. “I’m blind here. Everything is a thick haze across my vision.”

  Ceinder chuckled. “This close to Gysegar Fynadid, I’d be surprised if even Ddif was able to use his talent.”

  Ddifeddianedig shook his head. “I am unlike you, lady. The disputes between the elements do not affect me at all.” His eyes rolled back into his head and he vanished, only to appear at the other side of the clearing a moment later. “The ways of Hysbryd Byd are never closed. They may be barren, but never closed.”

  Bwyell spoke up, his face twisted into an unpleasant image. “You lot creep me out, doing that. Especially you, Ddifeddianedig. I know you hired me to protect you, but I didn’t think it would involve the spirits of the dead.”

  Ddif laughed. “Mundane Bwyell. I am still a man, and an arrow will pierce my heart as readily as yours. Without our talented comrades, I fear we would never reach our destination. Fynyddwr’s ability to meld into grass and stone and find a trail through the tightest of woods is as magical to me as my talents must seem to you. He sees with eyes and hears with ears that are different to mine, to Tarranau’s, to Atyniadol’s. We are each gifted in our own way.”

  “Now that we’re all done massaging egos, let’s move and get food.” Fynyddwr, ever the practical man, gathered his belongings and disappeared into the undergrowth. The others scrambled to keep up.

  Hours passed, and the sun slipped down the horizon, until the travellers broke free from the woods, and found themselves at the very base of Gysegar Fynadid. Above them, the massif towered high, its top obscured by clouds that cloaked its shoulders. Fynyddwr gestured for the others to make camp, and he disappeared into the forest, his weapons hung about him. The remaining six set about building the tents, low two-man affairs that they tucked up against the shelter of the trees. The weather was calm, with little worry of rain this night, and so Tarranau and Sawwaed gathered wood and built the fire high, preparing it for the meat Fynyddwr would bring back.

  Atyniadol stepped away for a time, the sheaf of daggers clutched once more in her hand. Soon after, the thud of metal impacting earth could be heard. Bwyell went to watch, and to practise the forms that had served him well in skirmish after skirmish. All things made ready, the camp filled with low conversation, waiting for the return of Fynyddwr.

  A loud shout rang out from the forest, and Tarranau and Sawwaed leapt to their feet, Sawwaed pulling his hammer from its sheath. Ceinder was but a moment later, and she steeled herself to grasp the earth if need be. The shout rang out again, and all relaxed. It was Fynyddwr, calling for help with the carrying. Sawwaed slipped his weapon back into place, a chastised grin upon his face. Tarranau followed him as they made their way into the woods, towards the sound of the mountaineer’s voice.

  Soon they found him, his back buckled under the weight of two carcasses. Tarranau took one, and Sawwaed the other. The creatures were of strange form, their front limbs hooked, their rear legs coiled and powerful. A thick coat of green and grey fur covered their bodies, and the weight of them was more than Tarranau expected from their size. Even over his shoulder, he was having difficulty carrying the creature.

  Fynyddwr soon explained at least some of the creature’s form. “I saw them jumping from tree to tree and nibbling on the fresh leaves. Buggers are hard to spot when they stop moving. Their coat is excellent camouflage against the canopy.”

/>   Tarranau noticed that the mountaineer carried a bundle of thin sticks in his hands. “What are those for?”

  “Arrows, lad. They break, sometimes, and I’d have replacements on hand. I’d also rather not use my best unless I have to.”

  Tarranau nodded at that as he followed Sawwaed back to the camp. Once there, the animals were skinned and dressed, and great chunks spitted above the fire and roasted. The meat had a strong flavour, a tang unlike any Tarranau had tasted before. It was different, but enjoyable after many nights of dried food, and so all tucked into the food with abandon. One beast was soon consumed, and the other was left to smoke over the fire, preserving the meat for some days to come. With their bellies full and their legs tired, the seven stayed awake to watch the sun set over the great ranges that surrounded the valley, and then they slipped away to bed. Tomorrow would be a challenging day, for they would begin the ascent of Gysegar Fynadid, and all wished to be ready for that moment.

  That morning, the seven ate again of the meat, and drank from a nearby stream. Filling their water bottles and distributing the leftovers amongst the packs, they then looked upwards at the immense bulk that stood overhead. It would take days to reach the summit, but all had agreed the ascent was one worth making. At home with their purpose, Fynyddwr strode ahead, blazing a trail up the mountain.

  Soon they had left the trees behind, and walked on barren slopes with little more than grass and heather to cover them. Ahead of them, birds swirled on the thermals that climbed the slopes of Gysegar Fynadid, and animals leapt from crag to crag. Behind, the view over the landscape was of unsurpassed beauty, and was to become better with each stride, for the valley was a glistening sea of emerald grass, surmounted and surrounded by the imposing grey and brown walls of the mountain ridges that marked the boundaries of this special land. Through it wound rivers and streams, fed from the shoulders of the mountains in great waterfalls that rushed down to nourish the fields below.

  Tarranau stared out across this land, thinking how paltry the cliffs and coves of his homeland were by comparison. He wished for some way to record this view, this moment, to carry it with him forever, and could think of nothing better than his memory. So he stared outwards, his eyes fixed, examining the terrain down to the smallest detail. He sought not to capture the image, although that was grand, but the feeling, the elation he felt looking out over such a sight.

  Others, too, paused in their steps, and even Fynyddwr said nothing as his eyes roamed the vistas, his mind capturing all. The ascent that first day was slow, both from the many breaks and the steepness of the shoulder, and when they made camp for the evening, the travellers were but a few thousand feet higher than where they had started. Tomorrow they promised to do better, for here they could begin to feel the bite of colder air, and the chill that never quite left these uplands. Above them, they could see the line where snow still sat upon the mountain, that area of frozen air that never warmed despite the efforts of the summer sun.

  At night they slept in full clothing, their limbs too chilled to remove them. The next morning saw a cold breakfast, for there was no wood, nothing that would burn on this mountainside of barren grandeur. A frost lay upon the ground, and until the sun swept its warming rays across the earth, the grass underneath crunched as they stepped upon it. This day, the exertion of their climb was all they had to keep them warm, for every step took them into the winds and the gusts of the aerial world, and this far to the north, they stung the eye and caught at the throat. Fynyddwr showed the others how to wrap a cloth about the mouth to keep the air breathable and the face warm, and soon all that could be seen of each traveller was a band of skin about their eyes, for the rest was swaddled in heavy clothing.

  As they climbed, the mountain changed. Gone were the green slopes and grassy promontories that had spread out through the surrounding forests. Now the mountain was covered in boulders, its sides rocky, hard and full of scree that slipped underfoot. Cliffs had begun to appear, and the ascent was steeper, Gysegar Fynadid turning away from its gentle base to the hard and forbidding creature which had taken the lives of so many who had come to climb its slopes. Once, the rocks let fly in an avalanche that thundered down the gulch next to the one in which they walked. The seven stared in awe as the stones tumbled over and over, sending a great spray of dust and debris into the air. There was power here, and it was a power that cared little for the short lives of men.

  Roped to the others behind him, Fynyddwr scaled a cliff, leaving metal rods hammered into the stone as a guide. Once everyone had ascended, he would retrieve those rods, for they had too few to leave any behind. This had become more frequent, for the areas where the inexperienced climbers could walk unaided were becoming few and far between. Tarranau let his eyes and his thoughts wander as they waited for Fynyddwr to return. Here, the clouds were often below them, the white blankets shielding the valley from sight. Away to the north, the great crown of Gysegar Fynadid shoved itself upwards, still impossibly far above them. This was hardly a mountain, more a mountain range with but a single crest. The land climbed high here, higher and higher as the cold dragged at everyone’s strength.

  Tarranau felt himself suffering from the temperature, and looked about to see Ceinder shivering. Going to her he pulled her into his arms as she smiled. “We’ve become birds, haven’t we?”

  He nodded at her statement. “The forest below is a green speck when we can see it. Everything seems so far away. It’s as if the rest of the world has shrunk.”

  “For us, it has shrunk. As have our perceptions. It’s strange. On the lower slopes I looked outwards, amazed by the views and the spectacle. Now, the views are too grand, and I look at the trail ahead and at my feet. I feel small and fragile here, when I realize how massive are the things we walk among.”

  “I agree. I feel so very small. Especially as my senses no longer work. That pulls the world in even tighter about me. I pray nothing bad happens, because my talent is all that I have.”

  Ceinder smiled. “You stand here, and are afraid of some other creature? I’m more afraid of Gysegar Fynadid than of any beast. That avalanche would have killed all seven of us. I wonder if it was a warning to turn back.”

  “You think a mountain would give us a warning?”

  “I’m not sure this is just a mountain. I think it’s something more. It radiates power the likes of which I have not felt.”

  “So how do we gentle the Gysegar Fynadid’s passion, then?”

  “We don’t.”

  Tarranau pulled Ceinder close at that, for he felt worried that not all of them would survive the journey. Doubts were beginning to form in his mind about the desire to travel to the summit of Gysegar Fynadid, although he knew some of those came from his lack of magic, from the mountain stripping away his talent. He could never sit at ease without his talent.

  Sawwaed strolled over, his hand clapping Tarranau on the shoulder. “Rest your doubts, friend. We’ll make the summit, and thence the land on the other side.”

  Turning from Ceinder, Tarranau replied. “What makes you so sure of that?”

  A chuckle cracked Sawwaed’s lips. “The Eternal Slayer isn’t going to die on some mountainside, is he?” The “Eternal Slayer” was a title that Sawwaed had been gifted by the spirits of Hysbryd Byd when this journey had begun. No one, not even Ddifeddianedig, was sure of what the title meant, only that it existed. As such, it had become something of a joke between Tarranau and Sawwaed, that he eternally slew his dinner, or the tent when he took it down, or a great many other things.

  Tarranau shook his head and grinned. “Perhaps you’re right. We’ll find out what that means some day.”

  “Oh, perhaps, but for now, Fynyddwr is back, and he thinks he has spied a distant cave that will make for warmer shelter tonight.”

  “Why can’t he ever spy a nearby cave for shelter? He likes distant things far too much.”

  “He’ll tell you it builds character.”

  “Not you too!”

 
; Sawwaed laughed, and set off with his pack after the mountaineer. From here to the cave was a long slog, a steady upwards hike dotted with cliffs that needed to be climbed and gullies that needed to be marched through. The pace slowed as Bwyell and Ddif and Sawwaed struggled with the ascent, the warriors weighed down by their armour, Ddif from the effects of years spent in gentle contemplation. They were a happy group when they found the cave and stepped inside, for it was large enough to contain all of them. The men set about piling stones in front of the cave’s mouth, blocking the warm air from escaping, while the women prepared a cold meal of meat.

  As they ate, they discussed supplies. The meat would hold out for another two days, but beyond that, they would need to hunt down one of the many creatures that jumped from crag to crag. That would be a hard challenge, for although the creatures were plentiful, they were shy, and disappeared as soon as the slightest noise startled them.

  Tarranau gave Ceinder a questioning look, and she shook her head no. Ceinder refused to use her talent to fight or kill, and had been steadfast in that since Tarranau had first known her. At the time, when they had been mining engineers in Tri-Hauwcerton, there had been no cause for her to fight, but as the riots swept over the city and the miners began attacking the engineers and the owners of the mines, her stance had not changed. She used her talents purely for defence, and had become even more firm in that decision when she had seen what happened when talents were used to kill. To defend her and several others, Tarranau had been forced to unleash a blast of icy shards into a charging crowd of rioters. The resulting carnage had left many dead, torn apart by the spray. Ceinder had forgiven Tarranau, but she had renewed her vow never to use talents to kill. That choice appeared to extend to animals.